Inevitable
by Eggplant and Caviar
Summary: Hermione has always relied on logic, but when she starts having prophetic dreams about a potion that leads you to your soulmate, logic won't matter. She is about to have an encounter with the two things she fears most: Divination and Professor Snape. (Moved to Ashwinder! Please finish story there!)
1. Insomnia

Short Disclaimer: I don't own anything, including a copy of any of the books, so please don't sue me. Also, for those wonderfully thorough readers, I may not be absolutely canon with the characters, but any deviations are purely in the interests of the story (which is, of course, the ultimate point). Please enjoy, and I'd delight in any reviews you would like to make, be they comments or flames. Criticism is an author's best tool.

* * *

Hermione glanced around the classroom slowly, feeling as if her head was full of water. Her eyes were mere slits in her face, blurring the edges of her vision uncomfortably. Her Head Girl badge dug into her skin as she leaned against the potions table, and her robes were horribly cumbersome and itchy. In front of her was a bubbling cauldron, smelling of cinnamon and night-blooming jasmine. A cluster of rose hips and orange blossoms rested to the side of it, and Hermione concentrated on mincing them with her knife. She couldn't read the instructions on the board and fumbled blindly through her memory for the recipe that she was sure she had learnt by heart. The voices echoing through the dungeon room faded in and out, dizzying in their intensity one moment and making her strain to catch the strands of conversation in the next. Hermione felt horribly ill. She didn't know if she could continue brewing the potion under these conditions, the thick, perfumed air choking her lungs and turning her stomach. Perspiration began to drip down her brow and she collapsed onto the desk, finally, raising her hand.

"Miss Granger." The tones were dangerous and close to her ear. Hermione lolled her head to the side and looked into the dark face of her Potions professor, eyes catching eyes and holding them there.

"Professor, I'm ill. I need to leave."

The professor ignored her plea and instead began slicing a strawberry, dropping it into the cauldron and unleashing another barrage of sickly sweet odors. "Think, Miss Granger. Strawberries are a powerful aphrodisiac."

"I know they are. Please, professor, I must see Madame Pomfrey."

"What are the properties of cinnamon, jasmine, roses, and orange blossoms? Quickly, Miss Granger. This is a test."

"Cinnamon is used for protection and psychic awareness. _Please._" Hermione tried to close her eyes, but the Potions Master spoke again, grabbing her chin roughly with a stony hand.

"What does that have to do with strawberries?"

"I don't know. I feel ill."

"What are the properties of cinnamon, jasmine, roses, and orange blossoms? Why the strawberries? Answer, Hermione."

The name brought Hermione to a start, and she sat up, classroom spinning. "They are _all _aphrodisiacs, and they are used constantly in divination. I don't know _why_ we're making this potion, but I'm horribly ill, professor. _Please._"

He merely looked at her, fingers still gripping her face. Hermione felt as if she were falling.

"_Please_, Severus."

With a wave of his hand, the classroom disappeared and they were suspended in darkness. "Ah, the magic word."

Hermione opened her eyes.

Light filtered in through gauzy curtains, striking the pillow beside her head and illuminating the stark but neat room around her. For a moment she was unsure of where she lay, the surroundings being only vaguely familiar, but as the lingering ill feeling in her stomach melted away with the dream, the memories of the past day flood back. She was in Diagon Alley, not Hogwarts or home, and the next term was drawing near. A glance at her bedside table confirmed only one aspect of the dream. The badge she had won glinted back at her, and a smile played upon her lips. Reluctant to rise and still rather disturbed by her night visions, she buried her head back into the pillow, a faint scent tickling her nostrils. Exploration under the pillow with one hand found an elegant sachet, smelling of rose. _That's where that came from, _she thought idly. Perfectly logical explanation for all of it, really. She was terribly worried about her Advanced Potions class, to be sure, so it was quite normal for her to be dreaming of brewing a potion she was unfamiliar with. The excitement she felt at starting the term again, combined with the pride and responsibility of being head girl, weighed as an almost queasy feeling in her empty stomach. One remedy for that: breakfast, and a checkup on her supplies. Hermione shook the dream from her hair and made her way towards the bureau to hastily choose a set of robes. Harry and Ron would probably be asleep for a couple more hours, so it was time to get obligations over with. They'd no doubt want to savor the last day of summer with a butterbeer or two later.

A strange feeling crept over Hermione as she realized that, in a matter of days, she would become legally eighteen, and wouldn't have to bother with only butterbeer. Not that she minded butterbeer – in fact, she preferred its taste to that of the wine or spirits she had sampled at a couple of her parents' parties – but she had _physically _been eighteen for quite some time due to her liberal use of the Time Turner, and was much affronted by the fact that she was still treated as a minor. Well, she wouldn't have that feeling much longer. She caught her own eyes in the mirror, glowing with rather more than a bit of pride, and she lifted her chin slightly. A delicious shiver ran down her spine as she pinned her Head Girl badge to her jumper and covered it with the robe. Just knowing it was there was wonderful enough – she didn't feel any need to show off. All business now, Hermione picked up her satchel and exited the room, placing a quick "thank you" note on the pillow. As House Elves weren't receptive to the idea of freedom, Hermione had compromised with her conscience and resigned herself to treating them with the utmost courtesy. A little kindness could go a long way.

The morning was bright and clear. Summer warmth still radiated from the waning sun, but a crisp breeze brought the promise of autumn. Hermione thought it quite pretty, and also conducive to her purposes. A hot summer day was not the best to be spending in dusty bookshops searching for texts. If there was one thing she would have liked to carry into the wizarding world, Hermione mused, it was air conditioning. Any sort of climate control, rather. Wizards seemed to prefer large tubs of ice in the summer and fires in the winter, however. In many ways they were entirely too old fashioned. Hermione pondered, for purely recreational sake, if it would be possible to rig up a sort of climate control using magic. It wouldn't be too difficult, she reasoned. Just some sort of broad-range warming or cooling charm tied to an object that could be used as a lever…

This train of thought carried her into Flourish & Bott's, where she immediately began to search on the subject of weather altering spells and linking spell effects to objects. True, she had intended to merely shop for textbooks, but the morning was still young and her mind was on the subject, anyway. Her search carried her up and down four aisles before she realized how silly she was being. Honestly, air conditioning. A small chuckle escaped her mouth and she shook her head, rummaging in her satchel for the list of needed books (and, of course, extra books that had been recommended by colleagues on the subjects). She knew the academic sections of the store so well that she found herself running on automatic, mind puzzling over several problems that she was sure she could find solutions to. However, when she became aware of her train of thought, Hermione stopped in her tracks.

_Jasmine and rose hips? What on earth…?_ Hermione tried to shake herself from the thread, but found herself still musing over the potion that she had been making in her dream. All of the ingredients were, as she had said, aphrodisiacs, but also had properties with various clairvoyant connotations. It was the kind of puzzle Hermione usually enjoyed, but the subject matter of both love and clairvoyance were uncomfortable for her. Hermione had rarely experienced romantic encounters; Viktor had fancied her in her fourth year, but that had been a rather one-sided relationship which she had enjoyed as somewhat of a novelty. It had been over too quickly to come to any sort of conclusions. Divination, too, was a sore subject – she hadn't set foot in Professor Trelawney's class since she had stormed out of it in her third year. She glanced down at the books she carried and, hesitantly, opened the one she was buying for Advanced Potions. Hermione's fingers flicked through the pages until it came to the index. There were several entries for each of the ingredients that she had dreamed about, but as she browsed she noticed that each of them had an entry on page 1583. Hermione flipped to the section, eyebrows knitting together like dueling caterpillars. The page was plainly laid out, but the information was frankly disturbing. "_Adamare Animae_" was the title, and her knowledge of latin was enough to send a strange feeling shooting from her heart to her feet and back up again. Fall in love with the souls. A soul-mate potion. _How strange, _she reflected. What on earth had made her dream of such a potion, and to such an extent that she had dreamed each of the ingredients of it? Hermione had never even heard of such a thing, and wasn't sure exactly if it fell under 'love potion' or not. Hadn't it been said that love potions were banned in the wizarding world? Academic curiosity taking control, Hermione delved deeper into the explanations on the page. No, not exactly a love potion, she realized. It was more of an…awareness of love potion. And it wasn't intended for another person, but for oneself. The theory was quite technical, and convoluted enough that Hermione barely understood the concept, if at all. A nagging feeling at the back of her mind reminded her of her realization that Divination was an art, not a science. For some reason she was getting the feeling from this potion, too. It was hardly a pleasant sensation, and Hermione slammed the book shut and stuck it on the bottom of the pile quite angrily. The rest of her shopping was done in haste, and soon she was speeding away to Florean Fortescue's to meet up with Harry and Ron. If they weren't there already, they would be there soon by Hermione's unerring sense of time.

Sure enough, the boys were conversing over horrendously large portions of ice cream and a cool mug of butterbeer perched beside each overflowing dish. An almost maternal smile flickered on Hermione's face as she neared them, frustration cooling with the fresh breeze. With a warm greeting to both of them, she sat gratefully down at the table, placing her new books on the floor. Ron whistled through his teeth.

"That's a hefty load, Hermione. Are you using the…" Ron gave her a meaningful look, but didn't finish his sentence. Hermione laughed and shook her head.

"No, I just picked up a few suggested titles that Anthony told me about at the end of last year." She bet her bottom dollar that Anthony was in the running for Head Boy, and turned a curious eye on both of her friends. She didn't think that Dumbledore would have given Harry any more pressure, and Ron certainly didn't seem the Head Boy type, but…

"Shame about Anthony, really," Ron said with a slight glint in his eye. "We ran into him earlier. He offered his congratulations, but you could tell he really felt slighted." Hermione's eyes bulged as she caught the flash of a Head Boy badge pinned to Ron's shirt.

"Ron! You didn't!" Hermione gushed, looking to Harry for confirmation. Harry inclined his head slightly, a proud grin on his face. Hermione squealed and leaned forward to hug Ron excitedly.

"It's funny how things work out…my life is almost like the vision I saw in my first year in the Mirror," Ron mused. "When I knew what I wanted, all I had to do was go and get them. Of course, I really owe my thanks to you, Hermione. If you hadn't gotten me studying…" he shrugged. "Dumbledore owled me with a few explanations, though. Said I had the makings of a real leader. _Me._" He shook his head. "I keep pinching myself to make sure I'm not dreaming."

"Why, it's wonderful!" Hermione cried, eyes shining. She couldn't get enough of the sight of the badge pinned at Ron's chest. The smiling redhead prodded her shoulder with his thumb.

"Now, tell me I don't have to share a common room with some nitpicky Ravenclaw," he chuckled confidently. Hermione grinned widely and flashed her own badge, putting a finger to her lips.

"Shh, it's a secret," she replied in a stage whisper. The boys laughed.

"I don't think that anyone had any doubt. Honestly, who else is even in the running?" The two Head Students grinned at each other, and Hermione was heartily glad that she wouldn't have to share her living space with a stranger. If nothing else, she thought, smiling, he would be easy to keep in line. She'd be quite shy about berating the living habits of other students, but she had plenty of practice telling Ron what to do. The lingering apprehension from her dream and the strange happenings in the bookstore were banished from her mind as she looked forward to cozy evenings in with her two best friends in the privacy of her own common room.

"This is going to be the best year ever."

Hermione idly scraped her plate of the last bits of dinner, deeply absorbed in one of the extra transfiguration books she had procured at Flourish and Bott's the day before. It was fantastic to be back at Hogwarts, where she could read through her magic books without constant interruptions from her parents, who delighted in reading over her shoulder and asking her to define every other term. It was wonderful that they were attentive, but that quickly got exasperating. All she had to deal with at Hogwarts was the constant stigma of "bookworm," which had, as the badge on her robes proved, paid off. She frowned slightly to herself. Of course, Ron hadn't had to be such a bookworm to become Head Boy. Then again, he had proved himself time and again through bravery and loyalty, as had she. Not that she minded being a bookworm. It just seemed…pointless to look down on such a thing when it had saved both Harry and Ron and the entire school time and again. And slightly unfair, she admitted, that Ron had run about having fun while she spent her time studying in the library…

A delicious scent wafted towards her nostrils as dinner was replaced by dessert. She glanced up at the spread and let her eyes wander over the choices. So many, and so little room was left in her stomach. She turned back to her book while she made up her mind, making a few notes in the margin.

"Studying at the Welcome Feast, my dear? You are much too tense. May I recommend the pie? It's quite delectable."

Hermione turned her head to see Professor Trelawney smiling behind her. She raised an eyebrow. Strange, but at least she wasn't spouting prophesy. "Thank you. I'll keep that in mind." The woman patted her shoulder in passing and then made her way back up to the staff table. Hermione sighed and, to be polite, took a slice of pie and set it on her plate, maneuvering a mouthful with a careful fork as she continued reading. It really was quite good. Light crust, moist interior, sweet cream…

Cinnamon pie, with strawberries on top. Hermione looked down at the dessert on her plate in mid-chew, fork dropping to the plate with a clatter. She swallowed reflexively and felt a sickly warmth worm its way into her stomach. Her eyes shot to the teacher's table, catching Trelawney's smiling eyes for a moment before the spindly, bespectacled Divination Professor turned to chat to an unresponsive Potions Master. Hermione glared at the woman, but then realized how silly and superstitious she was being. How could _Trelawney_ have known about her dream? Chances were she remembered the pie being served the year before and _that _was why two of the ingredients had shown up in her dream. Perfectly logical.

But it didn't explain why she had found the potion in her textbook.

And it didn't explain why That Trelawney Woman was speaking so furtively to the man that Hermione had called _Severus._

* * *

And there's the first chapter! Please let me know if you loved it, hated it, want me to, for the sake of all that is good and holy, stop writing and take up a paintbrush instead…you know the drill. I have at least one more chapter written, probably closer to one and a half, but I'd like to know if this is worth continuing, so once I get a little feedback I'll update…or not, depending. My gosh, I just put in a review plug. You may shoot me now. Or just review. (Damn, I did it again, didn't I?)

Only Eggplant and Caviar for my readers.


	2. Indigestion

Short Disclaimer: If I owned it, my computer wouldn't freeze when I opened Word.

I'd also like to thank my first three reviewers: **LMoonshade**, **A Perfect Lie**, and **Fuuruma**. You made my day, and I thank you for your kind words. Here's your wish, 'Lie: more soon. Of course, please don't start expecting it. I only have pre-written this chapter and a little after, so my next update will be later, especially if I don't get hit with inspiration, which is a problem for me since my muse ran off with my diabolical cupid quite a while ago. Anyway, do enjoy the update, and please review if provoked in any fashion!

* * *

Hermione woke with a start, dropping a text book from her fingers and sitting up on the plush couch, perspiration rolling down her forehead. Her hair was mussed and wild, as if electricity would spring from her at the slightest touch. Ron stared at her from his own chair, half amused and half worried. "Are you alright, Hermione?" he asked, voice low as if to keep from frightening her. Hermione shook her head.

"Yes. I'm fine. Just had…" A nightmare? Not quite, though it had been disturbing. Her recurring dream changed ever so slightly each time, but all the basic elements were there. Strawberries, cinnamon, jasmine, orange blossoms, and rose hips – and _Severus_. It wasn't at all like the dreams she normally had. Those barely ever made sense, and she'd end up talking to herself while having tea with the Mad Hatter on someone's ceiling or some such rot. Even that amount of reality was stretching the truth. This dream almost made sense, however. Almost, in that it had some sort of structure and included the recipe of a real potion, but it left such a surreal feeling that she could hardly call it logical. "I just had a strange dream," Hermione finished finally. Ron shrugged.

"Probably something you ate. What was it about?"

Hermione nearly fell off the couch, but recovered her balance in time. _Probably something you ate. _Though Ron looked genuinely interested, Hermione hesitated. For some reason she didn't want to reveal the entire dream to him, especially not the part about the Potions Master. However, she did rather want someone's input on the whole thing. "I've had almost the same dream for the past three nights. I'm brewing a potion, but I can't see the recipe, though I have all the ingredients and some semblance of what to do with them. The strange thing is, I found the exact potion I was brewing in my Advanced Potions book, and I have never even _heard_ of that potion before, much less how to concoct it." She looked to the gangly redhead for some sort of response.

"Hmm," Ron began, placing a bookmark in his own reading. "I hate to say this to you of all people, but maybe you're having prophetic dreams. Maybe you should speak to Professor Trelawney."

Hermione blanched. "That…that…_woman?_ She…ugh!" The girl could hardly get more than a few sounds out of her mouth so great was her disgust. "I can't stand her," she said, finally. Ron nodded in understanding.

"I know you two don't get along, but that's because you thought what she did was a bunch of blarney. What _she_ does may be, but that doesn't mean it doesn't exist. I mean, there _are _prophesies. Even Dumbledore believes in them. It can't hurt to just _ask _about such dreams, can it?"

"Yes!" Hermione snapped indignantly, crossing her arms and putting her feet up on the couch. "I can't be in the same room as that woman for more than fifteen seconds. And she forced the pie on me!"

Ron looked at her strangely. "Come again? What pie?"

"The pie I had at dinner! She _knows!_ She knows about my dream and she's trying to play some sort of mind game with me!" Ron's look was carefully blank. Hermione snarled. "The pie she suggested I try had two of the main ingredients of the potion I was brewing. And then…" She bit her tongue before she could continue. _And then she talked to Sev – to Snape!_ But she couldn't tell Ron that part. For what reason, she didn't know, but Hermione was terribly uncomfortable with that aspect of the dream.

"And then…?" Ron inquired. When, after a moment of silence, she did not answer, Ron asked another question. "What were the ingredients?"

Hermione murmured something she hoped was unintelligible.

"Hmm?"

"Cinnamon and strawberries." Hermione blushed. Ron lifted an eyebrow.

"So?"

"Never mind!" Hermione shouted, swinging her feet off the couch and storming into her private room. Ron stared after her, quite bemused. As she slammed the door, however, he turned back to his book, sighing.

"Women."

The heady aroma of strong black tea tinged with oranges and spice flowed from Hermione's cup as she brewed her breakfast drink idly. Dark circles under her eyes betrayed the fact that she hadn't slept more than a few minutes at a time, waking with a start every time there was even the hint of boiling water or the potions classroom. _What does this dream want from me?_ She asked herself, stomach knotting. _I don't _want _to brew that potion. I don't want to find my soulmate, and I certainly don't want to converse with the Head Snake of Slytherin or That Damn Trelawney Woman to figure this out. Why can't it just leave me alone?_

She was absolutely miserable. Her first class wasn't bad – Advanced Transfiguration – but following that was double Advanced Potions, which scared her beyond reason. Hermione had never experienced anything but delightful anticipation the first day of any term, even though from the very start of her stay at Hogwarts she had loathed Professor Snape's teaching lessons. She didn't like the man, but she didn't fear him, either, and in a way she held a grudging respect for him. Being frightened was not a feeling that Hermione associated with teachers; not one bit. Now, however, Hermione was terrified.

And she didn't quite know why. Surely it disturbed her that she was dreaming about a teacher – Snape, at that – in the context of brewing a potion associated with soulmates and made from a various collection of aphrodisiacs that actually happened to exist in the book she would be using in his class, but that was no reason to be frightened. Hermione looked inward for the source of her discomfort. _Perhaps it's the thought of prophetic dreams. Divination has always…unsettled me. I don't enjoy the idea that I don't have control of my future._ She frowned and sipped her tea, deep in thought. Perhaps that was really the issue. This was, after all, her last year at Hogwarts, and the year that she would decide her future. That in itself was quite frightening; she didn't need to add the fact that she might not be the only influence in what happened to her. Yes. Yes, indeed, that was the issue. Hermione felt better already.

She drained the last of her tea and set it on the table, flashing a quick smile to Lavender and Parvati. Gathering up her books, she decided to head over to Transfiguration early, just in case there was a rush.

Parvati snaked a hand over to Hermione's teacup and pulled it near, smirking at Lavender. Since Hermione had left Divination, they had taken to other means in spying on the other girl's business.

"What have we got today, Parvati my sweet?" Lavender's voice was lilting and mocking, but all in good humor. Parvati narrowed her eyes and peered into the cup, one elegant hand at her temple.

"I'm seeing a man, a book, and it's either a knife or a key. The man and book are almost merged, so I'm guessing that's a wise man, or an older man, or a learned man. Figures – it's Granger. She's probably going to talk to a teacher today. The knife-slash-key, well, that's a misunderstanding and a secret or opportunity, so I'm guessing, as per usual, that she'll misinterpret something important that will lead to some opportunity or the revelation of a secret. The girl's got luck, you know. What's your opinion?"

Lavender took the cup and gazed into it on her own. "I'm thinking that's an accurate reading. She's going to meet with a teacher, argue about some little point, and end up finding out something wholly more valuable by accident. Figures." Lavender uttered a noise that would have been a snort coming from any woman less refined. She set the cup on the table and was about to turn away when something caught her eye. Lavender did a double-take, and shoved the cup in Parvati's nose.

"Look at that! Do you see it?"

"See what? Those are all the clumps I see – man, book, knife-slash-key."

"Look at what's _around _them!" Lavender whispered, pointing with one elegantly manicured nail. Parvati leaned in to see.

"Salazar's _socks_," Parvati exclaimed, eyes wide. "Well, now. That changes _everything._" The two girls shared a glance. If a snapshot had been taken at that moment, the picture would have been worth much more than a thousand words.

Hermione stared down the Potions classroom door, heart beating a tattoo in her chest. "Not that hard. Just go through the door," she reasoned. "I promise you won't smell roses and cinnamon. Snape would never make such a…a…_soft_ potion. It just happens to be in the book. You probably flipped through the volume once or twice while researching. There is no connection. It was a _dream._" Hermione took a deep breath, and failed to make any progress.

The problem with irrational fears is that you can't reason with them.

The sound of pattering feet and chattering mouths spurred Hermione to action. She couldn't arrive with the rest of the crowd, now could she? Gritting her teeth, Hermione shoved the door open with quite more force than she had expected, sending the heavy wooden slab into the wall and back at her. She flinched, expecting it to smack her on the forehead, but it slowed in time to offer her but a gentle love tap. Hermione froze for a moment, but then defrosted and entered more quietly, finding a seat in the middle of the classroom. Normally she would have chosen the front, but she didn't think she was quite ready to face the full-fledged glare of the Potions Master.

Speaking of the devil, the man was absent from the room, perhaps gathering ingredients in the last few moments of solace he had before his class arrived, Hermione observed with a grim little snort. She began unpacking her things, looking to the board for any instructions, and the other students started to file in. They hardly registered her presence, long used to her being there long before anyone else. Hermione was part of the classroom, just like the cauldrons in front of them. However, the cauldrons did not possess Hermione's powers of observation. She started, coming to the realization that, for the first time, she would be among those who actually _cared _about the subject, enough to pursue it at the highest level. It was a strange feeling, but also a welcome one. Perhaps, among serious students, Professor Snape would spend more time teaching the subject rather than penalizing Gryffindor students for debatable infractions.

A chill alerted Hermione to the entrance of the Potions Master himself. She didn't know exactly what she had been expecting, but blinked as she realized his entrance was something of an anticlimax. The dream had primed her to believe he was something more than human, something intriguing and ethereal. Reality, however, found the man to be nearing forty, with grungy hair. She raised an eyebrow unconsciously.

"While what naïveté I still possess fervently believes that all of you shall be inclined to dedicate your energies solely to the intricate art of potion making while in this advanced level, my much larger share of cynicism dictates that there will be the same ratio of imbeciles as in any other class. As a result, you should expect not to be treated any differently, and expect to be worked harder than you ever have been worked before. The grading in this class shall be competitive; not necessarily because I feel you need any more competitive spirit, but because I am loath to hand out high grades _gratis_ for merely acceptable work. For perfection you will aim, and you shall learn that perfection is not nearly enough." The aristocratic sneer on icy lips must have taken years to perfect, and was used to its highest potential as the man surveyed his students. Hermione heard distressed esophageal noises around her as the other students began to reconsider their positions in the class. However, Hermione raised her chin slightly to the challenge, refusing to be dominated by any greasy git, as Harry and Ron were fond of calling him. She hadn't been appointed Head Girl for nothing, had she?

"Twenty points from Gryffindor for your air of defiance, Miss Granger. You will find that arrogance has no place here."

Hermione flinched, face falling into a blank mask while behind her eyes she plotted devious murder. That damnable man. How on earth, she wondered, did her subconscious ever connect him to something so _soft?_ Fighting the urge to curl her lip in disgust, Hermione mentally wrote off her dream as the product of too much thinking about irrelevant subjects. She was certain that this encounter would banish the ability to have such dreams.

* * *

There you have it! Let me know how I'm doing with an email or a review or some sort of feedback. Only Eggplant and Caviar for my readers. 


	3. Indignation

Short Disclaimer: If I owned it, they'd probably be American. Or Mexican. Mexicans are sexy. So are Italians. And Spaniards, while I'm at it. Swedish people are gorgeous as well. Oh heck, people are sexy.

Especially sexy people: **VictoriaM2006**, **Madelynn Rae**, **Madam Snape 01970**, **Just A Starving Writer**, **Fuuruma** (again XD), **Winter Solstice 1** (I'm glad you like my characterizations! You made me blush, you!), **Vickie211**, **strega-in-progress** (concise and flattering), **ZoeyChick** (strawberries and chocolate for you, then, picky XD), **Transylvanian**, **chaotic pink chocobo**, and **vanityfair** (eep! I love your work!). You guys are absolutely amazing! I opened my mailbox yesterday, expecting just to get my horoscope and get off, and instead I ended up not only finishing this chapter, but a good deal of the next chapter as well. Reviews get me going, that's for sure shameless plug alert. I would have posted sooner, but was giving me loads of trouble. Thank you thank you thank you! And do enjoy the new chapter. For those who liked the tea leaf part, there's a good deal of Lavender and Parvati in this section, as well as the next (so far, anyway).

* * *

Hermione had the dream again. And again. And, for lack of better diction, again. It was driving her absolutely bedlam. 

She sat up in her bed, sheets twisted and sticky among her legs, hair making an attempt to defy gravity, cheeks flushed. Hermione pounded the heels of her hands into her eye sockets, trying to erase the images from her skull. No matter what she tried, she'd have the dream every time she slipped into rapid eye movement. Hermione was losing sleep, and encountering the dream in lucid moments, or when her eyelids drooped during classes. Her professors were noticing the strange inattention; the ones who acknowledged her abilities tried their best to pad her grades, while That Damnable Man capitalized on what she had come to think of as her mental illness.

The worst part, though, was finding connections from the dream to reality. In both Advanced Theory of Charms and Advanced Transfiguration she had encountered some semblance of explanation to why the names "Hermione" and "Severus" held such power in the vision. True Names were the key. To successfully change one thing to another, one first had to acknowledge the state of the original object, say, Quill. In order to change Quill to Porcupine, one had to assign it a new Name, and therefore a new Form. In Charms, the same theory applied. To change an Attribute of anything, one had to first acknowledge what the object was, and then the Attributes it already possessed before adding a new one or altering an old one. Therefore, knowing the Potion's Master's true Name had allowed her to get through to him; thus, the "magic word." His own knowledge of her true Name had elicited the same response.

Thankfully, neither pronounced the other's first name in reality. That would have been more than Hermione's shattered nerves could bear.

It also didn't help, Hermione added mentally, that Parvati and Lavender were suddenly following her every move with their bright, hawkish eyes. She swore that they were spying on her, or waiting for her to fall suddenly, fatally ill with some fascinating disease. Perhaps they _were_ attempting to poison her, or something similar, Hermione mused. They had looked almost crestfallen when she had passed up her usual morning tea, as if they had been waiting on the edge of their seats to see what would happen if she drank it. Hermione made a mental note to switch her drink of choice from day to day to throw them off, just in case.

The worst thing, though, the absolute _worst, _was that Hermione found herself unable to deal with her problem.

Usually, Hermione turned to the library. The dusty shelves with their ageless and infinite cache of books always had an answer for her. Books were simple – they had tables of contents, they had indexes, they were alphabetized, and they presented the information in a neat, logical format (well, at least in the case of those she picked for research, with simple, straightforward titles and well-known, accurate authors). However, she had been to the library enough times to know that there _were_ no books with titles along the lines of "Aphrodisiacs and Why You're Having Dreams About Them". The closest thing she could get would be a book on Divination, and she _wasn't doing that._

Hermione sighed, turning around to give the library one more try, and nearly ran headlong into Lavender, who looked exceedingly guilty. Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"Lavender, I can't believe I'm asking this, but are you following me?" She placed one hand on her hip and looked at the other girl, an exasperated expression on her face.

"Of course not!" Lavender replied with false cheerfulness, her voice squeaking. "Why would I be following you?"

"You and Parvati have been watching me constantly at meals. Did you think I wouldn't notice? And Ron told me that you two have been filching my teacups every morning this week! What are doing, Lavender?" Hermione felt like she was on the verge of snapping. It was all far, far too much. Was the rest of the world going as mad as her?

"Well…"

"Spit it out, Lavender," Hermione growled, a little more forcibly than she intended. Lavender jumped.

"Okay, alright…we've been reading your teacups."

"Reading my teacups?" Hermione repeated, incredulous. Lavender _had_ gone mad.

"Tasseography. It's a divination technique where you read tea leaves. In Divination, we get to hear everyone else's readings, but you were never _in _Divination, so we decided to look at your tea leaves after breakfast, just for fun. And we found something really, really interesting, so we decided to read them every day, and trust us, it's _really, really _interesting." Lavender didn't say _what _was interesting, however, and Hermione watched her expectantly.

"Well?"

"Well what?" Lavender replied innocently.

"What was so bloody interesting?!" Hermione shouted, making Lavender tremble a little. The frightened girl gulped and looked around to see if anyone was listening, then leaned forward and whispered in Hermione's ear.

"You're going to have a secret love affair with someone extremely intelligent and…older."

Hermione jerked back from Lavender, feeling as if she had been slapped in the face. "What?"

"It's true! It's been in your cup every day! I mean, that might not be the _only _interpretation, but I mean, _every day!_"

"Maybe I just drink my tea the same way every time. Did you ever think of that?"

Lavender looked as if Hermione had just suggested that maybe magic was just a coincidence. "And the elves brewed it the same way every time? And the water drifted the same way every time? Please, Hermione. Face it. You are the pawn of fate, and _fate says you're going to have a secret love affair!_" Her voice rose at the end, drawing the attention of several people that Hermione would rather have not drawn the attention of. Hermione grabbed Lavender by the collar and dragged her in the direction of the library, despite protestations. When they were inside, she took her into the back of the History section, certain that no one would possibly overhear them _there. _

"Lavender." Hermione couldn't believe she was doing this. "I think I need your help. But you have to _promise, _absolutely _promise, _that you will not tell a single soul. Parvati either. I mean, you can tell Parvati, because I may need her help, too, but neither of you can tell anyone else. And that includes Trelawney, got it?" Lavender nodded, but Hermione shook her head. "Not even if they do to you what I'm doing to you now. Not even under torture or pain of death." Lavender looked scared now, but Hermione relaxed a little. "I think I've been having prophetic dreams."

Lavender squealed and clapped her hands under her chin. "Do you know who your secret lover is? Gosh, Hermione, are you a _seer?_ Because - "

"No, no, nothing like that. And I quite doubt that I'm a seer. Me, of all people? No. Don't even think about it. Listen to me, will you? And stop bouncing, you'll draw attention," Hermione hissed, looking about. "Listen. I'm in the Potions classroom, and I'm brewing a potion, only I can't see what's on the board because I'm really ill, but I have a bunch of ingredients on my desk. Snape's getting on my case, quizzing me on what the ingredients are, and they all turn out to be divination aids with the side effects of…" Hermione paused, wondering what she should tell the other girl, but decided that something needed to be done. "…of being powerful aphrodisiacs." Lavender squealed again, but Hermione continued.

"Shush, will you? Anyway, I can't remember anything until he calls me by my first name, and then the aphrodisiac part comes out. And he doesn't let me out of the dream until I call him _Severus_. Now, I figured part of it out. You need to know someone or something's true name before you can really control it, so that's the name part. And then the potion…this is the prophetic part…the potion was in the back of my Advanced Potions text. Now here's where your part comes in – the potion helps you find out who your soulmate is, I think. It's called the _Adamare Animae. _Have you heard of it?"

Lavender's eyes were wide at all this information and her fingers were laced tightly over her mouth to keep in her delighted squeals. Hermione noticed that her fingernails were a shade of lavender, vainly enough. "Of course I've heard of it! Don't you read wizard romances, Hermione? It's in _every one of them!_ You've got to brew this potion and find out who your soulmate is! That's what the dream is telling you! You've got to!"

Hermione groaned, but Lavender continued, more slyly. "Although I already think I know who it is."

Hermione's heart began to pound. The news about the older or learned man had heightened what had been her greatest fear from the start, and she waited for the words to drop out of Lavender's mouth. The girl now possessed the smug look of someone gliding above the heads of all around her, and her eyes glinted dangerously.

"It's Professor Snape. Or, rather, _Severus _Snape. I think your cupid, whatever it is, has a death wish."

Hermione thought so, too. "But I don't _like _him!" she cried out, desperately. Lavender gave her a pitying look.

"I know. But why else would you be dreaming about him in conjunction with the potion? Other than the obvious I mean, don't get snitty. Plus, he is an older, intelligent man, isn't he? Unfortunately, soul mates can be just about anybody. At least yours is alive, currently. There have been people who have taken the potion and seen that their soulmate was alive in Egyptian times, or in one case a woman's soulmate was her granddaughter's husband, and her granddaughter divorced him because something 'wasn't quite right in the marriage.' Of course, that was because the granddaughter was only one-quarter his soulmate. Happen you were born just a _smidge _too late for yours, but it's not entirely impossible, really. I mean, you both like books more than people," Lavender pointed out bluntly. "And if he'd just do something about his hair and his teeth and his skin…well he'd be _kind _of handsome, wouldn't he? He's got a gorgeous voice, even you know that."

He did have a nice voice, and at least he was intelligent, Hermione reasoned, but, _Salazar's Socks, NO!_ Why was she even _reasoning?_ Lavender didn't have any sort of information about any of this! "You don't have any sort of information about any of this!" Hermione exploded, throwing her hands up in the air. Lavender glanced at her calmly.

"Then make the potion and find out. Parvati and I will help."

"I can't make the potion! Snape cannot find out about this, _whether or not_ he is…connected to it," Hermione replied, with a careful look at Lavender. The girl sighed.

"Well, of course. It has to be a _secret _love affair, from start to finish. No, Parvati and I have a little workstation for these kinds of things. Sybil…I mean, Professor Trelawney…taught us how to make several sorts of divination and love potions. Come on, it'll do you good to be back in the dorms with us girls. You spend too much time locked in with that Weasley boy. If I didn't know any better, I'd say it was _him _that was your soulmate."

"Oh, that's _redic - _"

"I said _if I didn't know any better._ But I do. He's got his eye on Padma. Parvati told me. He's frightened of her – Parvati I mean – but he thinks she's attractive, so naturally he'd go for her quieter twin…" Lavender continued a steady stream of gossip all the way up to Gryffindor Tower, guiding a slightly bemused and disoriented Hermione with a companionable arm around the waist.

A sickly sweet aroma cloyed in her nostrils, making her stomach turn. In front of her was a bubbling cauldron, smelling of cinnamon and night-blooming jasmine. A cluster of rose hips and orange blossoms rested to the side of it, and Hermione concentrated on mincing them with her knife. However, this time it was no dream, and Parvati read from the book as Lavender stirred the potion. They had chased the rest of the Gryffindor seventh years out, proclaiming urgent business. Naturally, the other girls assumed that they were giving Hermione a makeover.

Little did they know that Hermione would hex their ears off if they tried. Lavender and Parvati, however, did know this. She had threatened them with that very consequence before.

Hermione added in the rose hips, bringing forth a burst of perfume that almost made her choke. The sticky red-brown mixture of cinnamon, jasmine, and strawberries thinned into a clear pinkish oil that looked rather like some girly soap. She wondered how she had been talked into this. However, after Lavender turned it a few more times, Parvati instructed Hermione to throw in the orange blossoms.

"Now draw the rune and speak the incantation – _comperio animae_ – and see what happens. Ooh, the instructions have suspense written _right in!_" Parvati cooed. Hermione rolled her eyes, but did as she was instructed.

"_Comperio animae,_" she breathed, tracing the now well known rune over the mixture. A puff of pink scented smoke blasted her in the face, throwing her into a coughing fit. The potion was now a deep red, pulsating with an inner light and humming slightly.

"Go on, drink it!" Lavender urged, her and Parvati crowding behind Hermione's shoulder eagerly.

"It looks radioactive or something…"

"No, no, it's supposed to look like that, see? 'It should be a luscious scarlet colour, with a texture of the finest oils, and it should beat and hum like the heart of your beloved.' I do _love _these descriptions!"

Hermione gave Parvati a look of disgust, but took a flask of the potion and eyed it suspiciously. Both of the other girls whipped out flasks of their own and bottled the potion for private use. It wasn't every day that they could find someone to brew them a powerful potion like this. Luckily for them, Hermione was no ordinary witch. "Drink, Hermione," Lavender pressed. It'd do no harm to have her try it first.

Hermione took a deep breath and downed the potion, struggling to keep from spitting it out. It was like drinking the liquefied scent of some extremely feminine perfume, with teeth in. The cinnamon was definitely biting back, seizing her tongue between it's spiky jaws and burning down her throat. She could feel it pulsing all the way down, but at last she had swallowed the last drop and licked her lips clean, following with her sleeve. She sat back and waited for the effect, which she was still unclear on. Perhaps a spark of inspiration? A brief vision? A mental clarity?

She waited. And waited. And waited. Lavender and Parvati looked like they were going to explode from the suspense. Hermione blinked.

"Um…"

* * *

Burn! Cliffhanger! One of my best friends is the devil, you know. She rubs off on me. As does another friend coughloveinterestwhat?cough of mine, who happens to be Hades, lord of the dead. Sorry if I'm a little evil at the end of the day. Let me know how I'm doing with an email or a review or some sort of feedback. Only Eggplant and Caviar for my readers. 


	4. Illumination

Short Disclaimer: If I owned it, I probably wouldn't be racking my brain to create these clever little disclaimers. At least, I hope they're clever. Probably not very.

Especially sexy people part deux: **Margaret** (I'm glad you like my Snape, so far…hopefully I'll keep up to your standards!) **excessivelyperky**, **Liahna**, **Myredreis** (it's my favorite 'ship as well ), **Cake** (I hate Harry, which may or may not become evident XD), **calicogrl04** (I'll take your typo and run with it), **kishkitten36** (a tease, am I? And I'm glad you like my Lavender and Parvati…they will be sickeningly girly, but hopefully not shallow. Girly girls have depth, too, says the tomboy… ), **Aleatha515** (that's why I make cliffhangers ), **Madelynn Rae** (Hi Ned! XD), **Winter Solstice 1** (it's evil, but look at the response I get! Thanks for the lovely words), **vanityfair** (you sly devil you!), **Pathatlon**, **Vickie211** (oh do stop, you're making me blush! No, don't stop…I'm vain XD), **strega-in-progress** (I'm glad I'm worth the wait!), **Chainmailgrl** (it seems everyone hates cliffhangers…I'm getting drunk on the power, here), **LauraNotLora** (Even I'm not sure how Snape will react…he writes himself), **Hermia** (you'll find out what she sees soon!), and **Transylvanian** (I always keep myself about a half chapter ahead, so cliffhangers are just for fun! XD). You guys completely made my day, and just for that the chapter after this will be a Snape one. I'm nervous about it since I've never written Snape before, and I really don't want to disappoint. You'll have to review to placate my ego…XD shameless plug! XD I think I like shameless plugs, I really do.

Enjoy the chapter at hand for the moment, though! All your questions revealed! (And more to plague you, I hope!)

* * *

Nothing had happened. Nothing at all. She felt no different, had no vision, couldn't tell whether her soul mate was Snape or Lucius Malfoy, for Godric's sake. _Better not be Malfoy, _she growled mentally. That would be a _really _rotten trick, now wouldn't it? Not that this could exactly be called a walk in the park.

"I don't think it worked. Either that, or the effect isn't something we expected. Er. Sorry," Hermione apologized, Lavender and Parvati collapsing to the carpet.

"That's impossible!" Lavender whined. "You made it just like the book said! It was perfect! You're just not telling us what you saw!"

Hermione sighed. "Did you see me go into a trance? No? I didn't think so. I told you I don't really understand the theory behind it. Lavender, you said that wizarding romances had this potion in them all the time. What usually happens to _them?_"

Lavender thought for a moment, manicured finger on her bottom lip. Hermione realized she was posing, albeit subconsciously. Really, who paused to think with their finger to their lip? "I'm not really sure, actually. They always say something poetic. I don't think many authors actually _know _what it does. It's quite a hard potion to brew…but I don't think you messed it up, Hermione! It's probably not much harder than the Polyjuice potion, and I overheard you mumbling about doing it your second year after Snape told you...hold on, let me find something."

Lavender leaped up and ran to her trunk, digging through it with both hands. After a moment of rummaging, she came up with a rather battered book, illustrated with more pink and white flowers than Hermione thought was healthy, as well as a typically heaving pair of breasts and a rather virile-looking young man. Lavender flipped through for a moment, pausing to read a few sections with a lustful blush on her cheeks, and then thrust the book in Hermione's questioning face. "There!" she exclaimed, pointing. Hermione looked at the passage.

"Lucian took a vial of the potion, the crimson liquid throbbing like a heart in the first flush of love, and tipped it down his throat, the taste of flowers and spice warming his muscled loins. Suddenly, he saw Jadia in a whole new light." Hermione bit her lip to keep from laughing. However, Lavender and Parvati glanced at each other and lifted Hermione bodily from the floor.

"Hey! What are you doing?"

"Taking you to see Professor Snape. I think, maybe, you'll see him in _a whole new light._"

Hermione wondered what Lavender meant, but was powerless to stop the combined team of her and Parvati, being rather slight in build and them being determined (and about as strong, when the need arose) as bulls. She was dragged down the hallway, earning several strange looks and a couple of exclamations. Hermione merely sat back to enjoy the ride, however, as she was powerless to stop it and had plenty else to think about.

What did they expect her to see, anyway? And what if it wasn't Snape? Really, that _was _a very good possibility. True, she _did _defend him from the merciless attacks of her two best friends, and she _did_ have an admiration for his _mind_, but that didn't change the fact that he was a greasy git who insulted her at every opportunity. She had just gotten so carried away with Lavender's fairytale thinking and her own insane dreams that she had completely left her good friend Logical Reasoning behind. Snape, of all people. He probably hadn't said one thing that could be _mistaken _for "nice" in all her time at Hogwarts. Not even a backhanded compliment, even though some would say that "know-it-all" was indeed a compliment of the utmost backhanded sort.

More importantly, didn't a soul mate have to fancy _you _as well? Hermione nearly snorted. He constantly baited and criticized her in Advanced Potions, moreso than any other student, even though she was quite obviously the most dedicated and talented of the lot. Hermione was the top of her class. Every potion was _more _than perfect.

_But that still wasn't enough!_

Although, said a little nagging voice at the back of her mind, special attention _was _special attention, after all, even if it was negative. And he expected more from her than the rest, which showed that he knew she could do better, which meant he had plenty of faith in her abilities. He most definitely knew she existed, and wanted to hone her into…

…a Potions Mistress.

Hermione frowned. Once you got off logical trains of thought, it was _really _hard to go back. Then again, she really didn't have any other leads. Who was there, really, that it could possibly be? Certainly not Harry and Ron…they were far too much like brothers, and not mature enough for her taste. All the boys on the Quidditch team spoke far too much about their sport, and didn't seem to have any other conversational gambits. Neville was Neville, and that was that. Ron's siblings were attractive, but again they were like family. Anthony was intelligent and rather good-looking, but he was more of a study partner. He really wasn't all that interesting as a person. She tried to think of anyone from DA, but no one really came to mind. She really hadn't thought about it before, but was shocked to discover that there really _were _no other candidates. This realization carried her for the rest of the journey, ending when both Lavender and Parvati jolted her to a stop and whispered, in perfect tandem, _"There he is!"_

Hermione, shaken from her thoughts, looked dumbly out into the hall where Snape stood disciplining a troupe of crying first years. She _was _seeing him in a new light, due to her revelation. He was an intelligent, brave, mature man who was not _entirely _unattractive; he was fit, if rather greasy, but then, what could you expect after standing over bubbling cauldrons and rushing after delinquents all day? Indeed, he didn't look so greasy during the holidays, when there weren't as many students and he didn't spend eight hours in a classroom filled with exploding potions. He believed in her abilities, and wasn't the type to ever cramp her style by trying to drag her to Hogsmeade every weekend. Hermione almost smiled as she thought of working beside him on a potion. Perhaps this turn of mind was what the potion intended.

And then she realized she really was seeing Professor Snape in a whole new _light._

Around his dark form was a glowing pink halo, pulsating much as the potion had. After a moment's consideration, she realized that she was seeing his _aura._ An aura tinted and highlighted by the potion's effects, but in essence she was looking at his life force.

It was brilliant.

"What do you see? Can you see anything?"

Hermione seriously considered saying she didn't, but then she realized that she would need all the help she could get in this venture. If he truly _was _her soulmate, she knew she wouldn't be able to live without him. And Hermione had _no idea whatsoever _as to – she gulped – seducing the opposite sex. Especially if the object of her attentions was _Snape_, of all the rotten luck.

"I can see his aura." The admission was flat, as if she were finally admitting that she was guilty of a series of mass murders to the judge. Parvati and Lavender squealed.

"Is it nice?"

"It's bloody beautiful," she replied grudgingly. "Though it might be more fitting if the potion didn't tint it that godawful shade of pink."

Behind her, the two girls went into fits of girlish joy. Hermione looked as if she were going to cry. She turned and headed back to the Gryffindor Common Room, not wanting to face Ron in her own rooms just yet. Lavender and Parvati followed her, talking excitingly. However, Parvati noticed the look on Hermione's face and frowned.

"What's wrong, Hermione?"

"What's wrong? _What's wrong?_ Professor _Snape_ is my bloody _soulmate._ You only get _one._ And mine's wasted on _him._" Parvati and Lavender looked guilty. Hermione sighed.

"Girls, I really suggest that you don't take your potions until someday when you think you've found the right person, just to check. Maybe…maybe not even then. Sometimes, you just don't want to know." The look on her face was so downtrodden and hopeless that Parvati and Lavender lost all interest in testing their potions when they got to the Common Room. Perhaps the mysteries of the unknown were mysteries for a reason. _Although, _Hermione thought wryly, _nothing their potions could come up with would be as horrible as mine._

At dinner that evening, Hermione was despondent and unresponsive to the commotion going on about her, eyes on her plate so she wouldn't have to see _that man's_ aura. The sight disturbed her deeply, though she couldn't quite explain why. If she could make sense of the thoughts flying through her head and put them into words, it would have run something like: _It's not only that I've hated him for six years, it's that, while I've hated him, I've also respected him and admired him. On top of that, I know he hates me, and there is no chance in the world that, even if I _did_ fall in love with him (which is absolutely, incredibly, ludicrously impossible), he'd fall in love with me, and while I should be relieved about that fact, I'm _disappointed! _Not to mention _insulted. _And the worst thing is, I don't understand why! Transfiguration I can understand. Charms I can understand. I can even understand Potions, damn it all, so why can't I understand myself?_

Of course, she couldn't understand herself for the same reason that we can't see the Milky Way galaxy. She was far too close to a far too large situation to see anything clearly. For the first time in her life, Hermione had to deal with her inner workings, which is far more complicated than the most vexing Arithmancy problem. To use a metaphor from her early training, one plus one did not, in fact, equal two. One plus one could equal anything from total happiness to devastating humiliation and heartbreak. Hermione had seen it before in others – Harry with Cho, Ron with Parvati, Neville with any number of young women – and she didn't want to get caught up in the same old rigmarole. It was nothing short of…

…frightening. And the fact that it was _Professor Severus Snape_ wasn't helping one bit. He was intimidating merely to look at from the other side of the classroom even when she _wasn't _aware that he was (possibly, since there _was no concrete proof _that the potion did what it said it did) her one and only soulmate, of all things in the world. What was she supposed to _do_ with that kind of knowledge? _Hello, Professor Snape. I finished the essay on the properties of boomslang skin, and oh, are you aware that you're my soulmate? Perhaps we should sit down and discuss what we're going to do, being conjoined at the hip for the rest of our natural lives and all. _Hermione snorted. It was insane, and no help for it. He was a teacher, for Merlin's sake! And a greasy git of a teacher at that! What would people _say?_ Hermione nearly choked on a piece of broccoli. What would_ Harry and Ron _say? She chanced a look up at the dreaded Potions Master, feeling the twist of intestines in her abdomen tighten as she did so.

It really was beautiful. A captive aurora borealis haloed Snape, flickering along the border of the dark professor, highlighting his lean features and throwing him into sharp contrast against the rest of the world. Enchanting; now that was a word she could use. Hermione didn't know how long the influence of the potion would last – the theory was still far too advanced even for her to understand, even if the process wasn't. However, as time went on, she wasn't certain the dissolution of the enchanting lights would lessen the effect the professor was having on her insides. Hermione swallowed thickly and pushed her plate aside, aware that she had chewed a single piece of food until it was not only completely dissolved, but also until her jaws had begun to ache with the repetitive motion.

"Hermione? Are you okay?" Harry asked, him and Ron casting a quizzical look at the young brunette. Parvati and Lavender exchanged a furtive, worried glance. Hermione, however, was stunned. If her current state was enough for Harry and Ron to sit up and take notice, it was time to return her attentions to the world and start acting normal, even if she felt as if her insides had gone through an automatic carwash.

"I'm fine, Harry, don't worry. Just not so hungry all of a sudden. Perhaps I'm catching a bug or something." She faked a wide yawn, which quickly became real. "I'm tired, too. I think I'll head to my rooms and get some sleep. It's your turn tonight anyway, Ron," Hermione pointed out, referring to the Head Girl and Boy's responsibility in patrolling the halls at night. She and Ron had decided that it was silly for them both to stay up late every night, and so switched off touring the entire castle by themselves, which worked out quite nicely for both of them. They (or, rather, Hermione, quite by accident while she was researching possible air conditioning spells) had worked up a system in which they could call the other if they needed help, and so far they hadn't needed the other, though Hermione had tested the method randomly and much to Ron's great annoyance a few nights into the term. Tonight, thankfully, Hermione could attempt to get some rest.

Due to the trials of the day, Hermione actually fell asleep quite easily, despite the wealth of new and quite disturbing knowledge she had picked up. For the first time in days, Hermione _didn't have_ _the dream._

Unfortunately, nature abhors a vacuum.

* * *

There you have it. I don't really like this chapter, but really it all depends if _you _liked it. Only Eggplant and Caviar for my readers. Let me know how I did.

A quick side note: I'm going to be extremely busy this weekend – tomorrow I'm going from school to rehearsal to an all-night hike/movie marathon with my four best guy friends (shhh it's not weird!), not sleeping at all, maybe taking a nap Saturday morning, then going to a dinner party, then Sunday I'm going to see Phantom of the Opera (the movie, not the play, unfortunately) and then I'm going to crash. I'll try to post the next chapter in-between the movie marathon and the dinner party, but I'm not making any promises. Hopefully this will tide you over…? Yeah, right. You lot are never satisfied. That's why I love you.


	5. Intimidation

Short Disclaimer: If I owned it, I'd have more than 300 in the bank.

I'd like to take this moment to thank my very beautiful, very patient, very much valued readers, and to apologize for the delay. More on my reasons after the chapter.

I'd REALLY like to thank: **kishkitten36 **(OMG your review made me teary-eyed! You're an absolute sweetheart, and I thank you very much for your detailed and highly flattering review. I'm glad my style helps you visualize the story…it's always been my belief that a good book should allow you to have a movie running through your head. As for the humor, it just comes up…I don't think I can remain serious for more than a second or two. You are a darling!)**, Vickie211** (I'm glad you liked the pink aura…I went into a fit of giggles when I imagined that bit, which was unfortunate since I was in the middle of English…had to smother them quickly and then jot the idea down in my sketchbook before I forgot)**, Fuuruma** (this difficult potions class is for you!)**, Pathatlon** (I'm so flattered that the aura is getting such a good response!)**, Winter Solstice1**(you guys are all making me blush! I'm glad you find Hermione's reactions genuine…keeping everyone human is my first priority in characterization)**, vanityfair** (I never thought that "my" Lavender and Parvati would have this effect on people, but I can promise you that they'll be making regular appearances. I adore writing for them!)**, Ciladis **(I'm glad you find my idea original…clichés are something I like to avoid. Sorry for the wait!)**, Hermia **(Vacuum as in the physical condition of a complete void…no space in nature, save outer space, is completely empty – if something is removed, something else will take its place. In this case, Hermione's dreams of the potion are replaced by dreams of another sort, which may be described later, though I do like leaving things to the imagination. Glad you're noticing my titles, as well )**, Margaret** (Phantom of the Opera was well done – I cried, even though I never cry at movies…but I was bawling! Thank you for your lovely review!)**, Cake **(insecurities are so much fun to write. Nobody's perfect, and I exploit that fact mercilessly. It amuses me. I'm glad I make you laugh as well.)**, strega-in-progress** (thank you for your wonderful words! And as for replying to reviews, well, I feel it's my duty to reply to as many as warrant a reply, no matter how busy I get. Even if this next chapter gets a hundred reviews, I will reply to them all – I may have to move the review replies to the bottom so as to not take up so much space, though!)**, Transylvanian, VictoriaM2006, fresh8, Nova Viper, **(thank you four for commenting!) **Aleatha515 **(sorry you find my chapters short…they feel much longer to me! I try to make them at least four pages…this next one is five! Heh. That's awesome about your cousin…wow. As to your question, let me just say read this chapter _very _carefully, my dear, and your answer will come in time)and **calicogrl** (thank you for your kind words, and I was teasing you about the typo…heck, I'd prefer a god story to a good story any day )

Whew…now onto the story!

* * *

Severus Snape was in a good mood. So far, he had made seventeen first years cry, taken away at least ninety points from Gryffindor, and given a haughty Ravenclaw detention for questioning his methods. Good cheer flooded his soul, and he was enjoying every moment of this beautifully rainy day. There was no Mr. Bluebird singing on his shoulder - hawks were more his style, anyway – but if the professor had been musically inclined he might have whistled a few notes in between the rush of classes. His students, on the other hand, would have thought his mood most foul – a deeply etched scowl drew his face into a sinister expression, his attitude was snappish and broody, and he had thrown out more insults in one class than most people threw at their worst enemy in three years. 

Just goes to show how filters of perception warp opposing viewpoints.

It was the last class of the day, and quite his favorite, though he would never admit it to anyone, and probably only would admit it to himself under extreme duress. The furthest he would go would be to say that it was less stressful to teach the older students, since they at least had a basic grasp of the fundamental method. The NEWT level class was an oasis to the Potions Master, filled with brilliant and, more importantly, completely dedicated minds, with only one or two accidents a year, and then usually only on experimental potions.

The only, _only _thing he dreaded was the Granger girl. A seething prickle of trepidation wormed its way through Snape's sunny interior, staining everything in its wake the mottled purple of a week-old corpse. He had known from the very first time that he had seen her that she would be trouble. A know-it-all, and the worst he had seen since…well, himself. It had taken quite a while to admit, but the truth was Granger had him scared. What would he do, he was horrified to think, if he slipped up and she caught the mistake? She didn't read books, she _devoured _them, and retained each and every fact, significant or trifling, in that sponge of a mind.

Long had Severus grown lazy and confident, able to frighten his students into mere flocks of sheep. If he mispronounced an ingredient or suffered a slip of the tongue, the beastly children wouldn't dare comment, supposing they had been listening and studying avidly enough to recognize the mistake. Even if they did, he could take off points for insubordination, or explain it away with a glib remark.

But Granger _argued._

He could hardly handle her, but had resolved not to ever, _ever _let her get the best of him. So he had challenged her, challenged her harder than any of his other students. Miss Granger, much to his chagrin, had risen to the standards he set, and had _actually broken them._

So he raised the standards again.

And she broke them - again.

It was a vicious circle, a constant source of vexation, and yet, at the same time, he was having the time of his life.

Many hold the belief that the ultimate goal in life is to be in a state of complete contentment, free of struggle and suffering. However, one must take into consideration that all things are relative. Without salt, there is no sweet; without dark, there is no light; without suffering, _happiness_ _cannot exist._ A life consisting only of happiness would quickly lose its beauty. It would be living life in a straight line; every day, happiness would deteriorate further into normalcy, until finally one would be caught in a state of boredom. Happiness would become like a drug – more and more would be needed to lift the spirits until, finally, stagnation would be the only sensation remaining, there being no further levels of happiness to be achieved. The smallest hitch in a plan would feel like ultimate devastation. The ultimate goal in life, then, is to experience the fullest range of emotions possible, and to always be struggling towards some end.

Struggle was not a stranger to Professor Severus Snape.

Every time he caught even the smallest mistake in the Granger girl's work, he felt a flash of triumph and capitalized on the error, criticizing her methods, insulting her end product, or taking away house points. However, as the years went on, he also felt a small spark of admiration each time she overcame one of the obstacles he kicked into her path. Severus even experienced a rare bit of pride when she completed a potion well beyond her years to the degree that even some of his professors in the past would have had difficulty achieving. Hermione believed that Potions was her worst subject; considering grades, it was. However, in reality, Potions were in fact Hermione's forte, and unmistakably so.

As much as he hated to admit it, Hermione Granger was Snape's secret protégée. She scared him; oh yes, she scared him, and he hated her. At the same time, though, he harbored a certain attachment, certain affection for the brilliant young Gryffindor.

Of course, Severus Snape would _never _admit it. He had been under torture before and had not relented in telling Dumbledore's secrets; damned if he would ever reveal these innermost thoughts to _anyone _out of _free will._ It was difficult enough to admit to himself, and had taken seven years to do so. He was a man to think things through, to taste and analyze each bit of every thought and emotion that ran through his mind and soul. The admission to himself was not a mistake. It was time-tested truth, pure and logical. However, that didn't make it something he wanted the world to know, and tried to forget about it. From time to time, he was successful.

But then _she _would walk in.

The sound of footsteps brought Severus back to the real world, and he anticipated the entrance of the frizz-haired know-it-all with his back carefully turned to the class, shuffling through papers that he had long since finished with. An odd note in the rhythm made him turn around, however, and instead of the Granger girl he saw a quiet Hufflepuff, skittering towards her seat with books clutched to her chest like a shield. _Strange. Granger's always the first one in my class._ He supposed another teacher had detained her, or that she performed some act of Gryffindor heroism and was recovering in the hospital wing. It figured for her to throw off his balance. His lip curled and his mood darkened ever so slightly. Typical Granger.

Surprisingly enough, she was one of the last to enter, keeping her head down and taking her seat quietly, with no fuss. She paled slightly at the fact that the only open seat was the front, quite out of character for the usually enthusiastic student. Severus found himself studying this behavior as if she were an experiment, and quickly snapped back into character himself. "I hope you all have not wasted your energy on pointless wand-waving earlier today, for you will need all your wits and strength, provided you genuinely possess _any, _for the potion you shall brew and bottle by the end of today." His frown deepened as he surveyed the class, eyes stopping on Granger for far longer than he intended. She really looked quite awful, as if she hadn't slept at all. Purple circles underneath her eyes had become a common accessory, and Severus wondered in passing if she was experimenting (and failing) with makeup this term. However, now the circles were accompanied by bloodshot eyes and the tendency to shake quite violently when she picked up a potions ingredient. Quite obviously, Miss Granger was suffering from insomnia. On a whim, without quite knowing why, he flicked his wand at the board and, instead of the blood-restorative potion he had intended to torment his students with on this fine afternoon, the instructions to an equally difficult yet far more useful recipe appeared.

"You will be making the Dreamless Sleep potion this afternoon, and believe me when I say I have every confidence that each and every one of you will fatally mangle this delicate brew. You all should be quite familiar with the effects of this potion, so I will not waste time prying meaningless answers from your minds. This should take up the entire class to brew, so starting immediately would be advisable." Severus flicked his wand again, this time at his store of ingredients, and lay out the necessary tools to brew the potion. His eyes wandered again to Granger, and he could have sworn he saw a spark of gratitude in her eyes as she returned his stare. It was pink.

"Professor?" Granger asked, quite timidly, looking slightly to the right of his face. "Did you want to speak with me about something?"

Severus quickly snapped out of his trance and scowled. "Perhaps, Miss Granger, you would like to test the potion after you have brewed it. The worst that can happen," he droned, lowering his voice, "would be that you end up in the hospital wing and I have a vacation. The best, Miss Granger, would be that you come to my class tomorrow _on time, _looking quite less like the living dead than you do this afternoon. I will refrain from taking fifty points off of Gryffindor if you succeed in the latter."

Granger blanched, but the spark of gratitude soon ignited into a full-blown inferno of defiance. _Now _she was looking him in the eye. Severus nearly smiled. "I suggest that you begin, Miss Granger, else your house might fall into the negative. You wouldn't want that on your golden conscience, I'm sure."

The young woman huffed indignantly, but went to collect her ingredients without so much as a word. _Better, _Severus thought. The faint surrealism her entrance had leaked into his day was fading, and he could get back to hovering over students. Severus found that his presence was an effective tool in conditioning the unfortunate young adults for working under pressure. There wasn't much scarier than Severus Snape glancing over your shoulder and making little cautionary sounds in his throat as you were about to put in the ingredient you had thought, until that very moment, was the next appropriate step. He adored inspiring uncertainty and watching their faces flicker from absorbed confidence to discordant doubt, seeing their hands hover over the cauldron in tense hesitation, and finally the almost defiant decision to go ahead with what they were doing in the first place, only to discover that, while it was the correct ingredient, their hesitation had led them to pass over the delicate window of time in which to create the desired effect. The lesson, of course, was that anything but the most polished sense of purpose and sureness would, quite literally, blow up in one's face. Most of his students merely assumed, however, that he was a greasy prick deliberately trying to light their eyebrows on fire.

Not that Severus minded that, much. He was quite proud of his reputation.

It was harder to intimidate these N.E.W.T. students, however. Severus constantly had to come up with fresh tactics to undermine their concentration, as their skins grew thicker with each passing day. It was a beautiful thing when a student could absolutely ignore him as they pursued the results of their potion, unlike Longbottom, who thankfully had dropped out. Severus had stopped hovering over his cauldron after the first near-fatal accident, but the boy still managed to shake to pieces even before he entered the classroom. He had tried his best to make Longbottom tougher, but unfortunately his constitution wasn't suited for the delicate art of potions.

Granger never flinched anymore.

It was strange how his first perceptions of his students had been turned inside out. Severus had nearly leaped with glee at the sight of the young Malfoy – he had been prepared for his coming for several years, of course, but still the untapped potential he saw before him had been exciting. Dumbledore, of course, had requested the tutelage of the Malfoy child – to hone him as a student, as well as protect him from the influence of the Dark Lord. It had been a mission Severus felt wholly devoted to, and indeed Draco's scores had been high…

But, then, the Malfoy child had betrayed him. He had taken the Dark Mark that very summer, and with that action had gone much hope. There was still the possibility that he would realize all that service to the Dark Lord entailed, but with the pressure of his family and peers…

Malfoy, at any rate, had been a loss. Instead, his top student was the Muggleborn, strangely enough – appearance out of control, mouth even more unruly, socially inept, and the cherry on top was the status of Gryffindor. The entire school sang her praises, a worm of intense hatred boring into the Potion Professor's gut with each passing mark he was forced to give her. However, when he began testing her limits out of half-curiosity, half-malice, it dawned on him on just how valuable a student she actually was, when her head wasn't being turned by constant praise. Strange, how the insults he threw became less motivated by malevolence and more by a sort of caustic affection as time went by. Not that _she _would be able to tell the difference, of course, but the important thing was that _he _could, when he really thought about it.

Well, not important. Hardly important. Amusing, at most. Interesting, perhaps.

Oh, _hell._

So a Gryffindor Mudblood was his favorite student. Stranger things had happened in the course of his life – and he knew for a fact that at least the feeling wasn't mutual. Minerva was most likely the brat's favorite teacher, being head of her house and such a practical-but-kind good influence. It made Severus want to vomit, though he respected Minerva far too much to voice that opinion. He nearly sighed in resignation, but before he could let his guard slip a faintly cleared throat caught his attention and brought him back to reality.

"Excuse me, Professor. I've completed the potion, but there aren't any vials…"

Granger, of course. Severus spun around, robes swirling most satisfactorily in a maelstrom of black fabric as he came to a stop. "Perhaps that is because I expected my students to take the _utmost care _in preparing their potions, rather than rushing headlong through a process they did not fully analyze," he growled, feeling prickles of anxiety as he realized how out of sorts he was. Really, forgetting to put out the proper vials for bottling, and spacing off in the middle of class on top of that! Anger burbled up inside his breast and he felt an overwhelming urge to take it out on Granger. "Do tell me: will this potion merely allow for a slight catnap, or did you err on the more dire edge of the spectrum and create a means for suicide?"

Granger's face turned a spectacular shade of crimson and her hands clenched, nails driving into the palms and knuckles shining white. "I assure you, Professor," she nearly spat, "that this is of no less quality than _any _of the works I have turned in this year." Her voice was deadly quiet, and Severus noted with some perverse amusement that she was taking on some of the characteristics of his own anger.

"Catnap, then. Very well, Miss Granger." Severus crossed over to the cupboard full of glassware and took out the rack of vials, placing it on his desk. He was quite aware that Miss Granger was positively fuming, and the fact cooled his own anger deliciously. Severus almost found it a shame, though, that propriety and the strict school hierarchy prevented a full-blown battle of the wits between them. In their current circumstances Granger could hardly answer back. The energy crackling around her was more than a suggestion that, had she not been a student, an epic clash would have been at hand. He shot a glance towards the rest of the classroom, noting to his pleasure that all eyes instantly dropped down to their respective potions at the slightest turn of his head. It would be very entertaining to observe the rest of the class, he was sure – no one would want to finish second, but then again, no one dared finish last.

Miss Granger, however, bottled her potion without hesitation and placed the vials defiantly on his desk. She was utterly confident that her potion was nothing less than perfect. She wouldn't have used the term "textbook" – that would be average, at best. Severus regarded her confidence with grudging approval. She was coming into her own, to be sure. He wondered if…

The notion was crushed as soon as it had begun to form. Certainly not. It would be…most unseemly. Especially since he had denied the position to Malfoy days before. True, Malfoy didn't have _half _the natural ability, nor the discipline, nor the drive. Come to think of it, the only thing he _had _was the ability to read and follow directions, which was what made him such a fantastic candidate for Voldemort's new lapdog in the first place.

Granger was hardly a lapdog. If she were, she'd be the type to leap onto the lap for the sole purpose of mauling one's genitals at her own discretion. By the look on her face, Severus would be a definite target. However, as the class went on, her eyelids began to droop, though she fought it every second. Severus remembered his rationale for assigning the Dreamless Sleep potion in the first place. He casually swept over to his desk and sat down, appearing to absorb himself in some manner of deskwork, finally deigning to glance up with a theatrical sigh. "Really, Miss Granger," he murmured, quietly enough so that none but her would catch his words, but with an acidic edge. "Do refrain from falling asleep in my class. I do have uncomfortable seating arrangements for a reason. If you are really that intent on catching up on your sleep, perhaps you should test your catnap potion yourself. In your current state, a mere spoonful should get you through the night, feeble as it may be."

Granger lifted her head with a scathing glare, but the harsh expression faded into one of utter shock when he caught her eye with a meaningful glance. Severus felt quite pleased in throwing her off balance so easily. After years of nothing but rebuke and sarcastic criticisms, the simple act of telling the dosage for a potion that would remedy her obviously sleep-deprived state was quite possibly the most unexpected and jarring things that he could have done. The effect was more than that of any of his most carefully crafted insults in shock value, and it rendered Miss Granger into a blessed state of speechlessness. Severus merely bent his head and resumed his deskwork, holding in his mirth with all the willpower it took to withstand an Imperius curse. Fortunately for all areas of his life, willpower was something Severus Snape had in abundance.

Something unsettling tickled the edges of his mind, however. He couldn't quite place it, but he had the strange feeling that it had something to do with her eyes…

* * *

My dear darlings, I humbly apologize for the delay! This past week has been horribly busy…though I must admit I had much fun last and this weekend. Along with the fun, though, I also had to deal with first semester finals and the most confusing man I have ever met. Lemme tell you, ladies and gents – when you fall for a good friend, it's one hell of a rollercoaster ride, especially when he admits he's attracted to you as well and then his sense of freaking honor prevents him from acting on his feelings because he "can't promise you a meaningful relationship", but he keeps on sending signals and -grumblegrumblegrumble...- 

-cough- I love him very much, but he's the hardest person to read. At least we can still remain friends, even if from time to time there's a moment or two where I just want to snog the hell out of him and he looks like the feeling is mutual.

Anyway, none of you want to here about my love life, so I'll go on to say:

Writing a good Snape is hard…I'm not sure if this chapter lived up to my ideals. Tried to make him not so cliché broody, leaning more towards the sort that uses humor as a defense mechanism, though it's more a private, darkly satiric joke on the world. I want to give only Eggplant and Caviar to my readers, so tell me if you hate my Snape and we'll play it by ear from there.

Kisses!


	6. Intervention

Short Disclaimer: If I owned it, Hermione would be fiendishly tall like myself.

I think updates are going to start showing up about once a week…school and rehearsals and writer's block seem to be getting in my way lately. I'd like to take this quick moment to say that I love my gorgeous reviewers and faithful readers. As I've been getting a lot of reviews, I'm going to start putting my replies down at the bottom so it doesn't interfere with the story.

This chapter is pretty much all setup, but it was kinda fun to write. Do enjoy!

* * *

Hermione walked out of the Potions classroom in a daze, fingering the vial in the fold of her robes. What had that been about? As if the blindingly pink presence of his aura wasn't enough, Professor Snape was now taking an interest in her prolonged bout of insomnia? The prospect was absolutely surreal. She tried to imagine what had motivated this strange turn in events. All other aspects of the day had seemed rather normal – opening with a degradation of his students, baiting her relentlessly, criticizing her quick and flawless performance – but the baiting before she had started had dropped the first hint that the potion was for her benefit, and then that bit at the end of class…disguised as it had been, the professor had seemed rather _worried _about her. 

Unbidden, a rush of pleasure washed over her, and she caught herself standing like an idiot in the hall, smiling. Her fingers caressed the vial as if it were a lover's locket, pressing it to her heart. And then she realized who she was thinking about.

"Oh for Merlin's sake, Hermione, don't go all wooly-headed. _Snape._ Honestly," she berated herself. Shaking her head, she struck out for the Great Hall, desperately needing to immerse herself in the inane Quidditch babble of Ron and Harry to get these horrible, disgusting, insane…

…gorgeous, tempting, delicious…

…immoral, idiotic ideas out of her head. Hermione paused, a confused look on her face, but then moved on without hesitation, head thrown up into the air defiantly, purple eye baggage and all. Unfortunately, she had only taken a couple of steps before a bony hand grabbed her wrist and pulled her behind a pillar. Hermione would have squeaked, if that had been a part of her disposition. Instead, she only braced herself to avoid slamming against the stone before turning to her assaulter. Giant, insect like eyes blinked at her from behind thick glasses with an expression of intense concentration.

"My child, you have been channeling the Mysteries! Why have you not come to me sooner?"

Hermione didn't disguise her disgust. "Trelawney. What on _earth _are you babbling about?" Usually Hermione wouldn't have disrespected a teacher, but she knew that, for one, Trelawney was too far gone to bedlam to notice, and for two, she was entirely too tired to care. "Besides, I haven't come to you _now. _You accosted me in the hallway!" she pointed out, stabbing at the older woman with an accusatory finger.

"Details, Miss Granger, details!" Trelawney replied, waving her hands in the air. "You've been having _dreams…_"

A cold shock ran down Hermione's spine, but she forced herself to remain calm and collected. Sybill Trelawney was a master of loosely phrased comments intended to provoke information and awe. Her statements were as general as a horoscope's – they could apply to anyone, and were intended to do just that. "Everyone _dreams, Professor_ Trelawney," Hermione shot back, emphasizing the word "Professor" with as much venom as she had absorbed during all of Snape's classes. "Really, what kind of a statement is that? Hardly an impressive insight, if you ask me," she sniffed.

"Dreams of a…certain intimate nature. About," Trelawney leaned in, yanking Hermione's ear to her mouth in a hardly surreptitious fashion, "your Potions Master."

Hermione flinched away instinctively, mind racing nearly as fast as the blush heading down from her forehead to her toes. How did she…was the pie…could it be possible that…?

She narrowed her eyes. "Oh _hell. _Lavender blabbed to you, didn't she?"

Trelawney looked guilty for a moment, but then straightened and collected her features. "No."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Parvati?"

The Divination professor held her pose for several tense moments, but soon lost the battle. "Yes." There was a silence as Hermione chided herself for nearly believing the batty woman, and as Trelawney formulated her next attack. "But I knew she was coming!"

Hermione curled her lip in distaste. "Honestly - "

Trelawney chose that moment to latch her hand onto Hermione's wrist again and pull her in the direction of the stairs. Caught by surprise, the younger girl found herself being dragged quite easily by her former Professor. The woman's spidery appearance was quite deceptive – she lugged Hermione up the stairs like a sack of flour. Hermione struggled against her grip, but was rewarded only by a second hand joining the first, and soon she submitted to being dragged towards the Divination classroom. After all, she would be able to escape as soon as the damned woman let her guard down…

A potent blast of incense smacked Hermione in the face as she was pulled through the doorway, finding herself pushed into a beanbag with quite more force than was necessary. Trelawney posed dramatically for a moment before speaking again.

"Shh, child! Forgive my rash actions – we could not be overheard. The Mysteries are not something one speaks about in echoing hallways." Trelawney steepled her fingers under her nose, which Hermione rather thought made her look like a skeleton with hayfever. Hermione's curiosity got the better of her, and she decided to wait out what the woman had to say. After all, she'd need the fuel for the scathing reprimand she would be giving to Parvati later.

"What in Godric's garderobe are these 'mysteries' you are referring to, you strange woman?"

"Mysteries. With a capital 'mm'. It's a proper noun."

"I don't give a rat's ass."

Trelawney didn't appear to hear her, instead studying Hermione's appearance like she was on observation under a microscope. Suddenly she straightened, throwing her arms into the air in the proverbial pose of astonishment. Hermione wondered if Lavender had been taking lessons on posture from Trelawney or the other way around.

"I never realized it before – you have the Psychic Hair!"

"Psychic air?"

Trelawney waved an impatient hand. "No, foolish girl. The Hair. Look!" She seized a shank of Hermione's hair in her hand and held it against a lock of her own. Hermione hadn't seen the resemblance before, but, though it was rather similar, she had no idea what it had to do with the dreams. Trelawney, however, decided to enlighten her.

"You and I are receptors of the Mysteries, which charge us so full of magic it reflects in our appearances. Your hair, as well as mine, cannot contain its excitement in being attached to a mind overloaded with the secrets that we are privy to. It is a gift, my child, and one I was too proud and too jealous of to see before."

"I rather thought my hair was impossible to manage…"

"Not the hair. The hair is but a sign. You have the gift to peer both ways along the path of time. The dreams you have been having – they are a premonition of the future!"

Hermione flushed bright crimson. Gods, she _hoped_ so…

No! No, she didn't. That was _(tempting) _absolutely vile! The thought of _him _putting his hands _there…_Hermione shuddered, feeling at once hot and cold. Really, this day had been far too much for her to bear. If she didn't get some hot tea and sandwiches soon, she felt as if she were going to pass out.

Trelawney handed her a hot cup of tea and a tray of sandwiches. Hermione fainted.

When she came to, Hermione was horrified to see that Trelawney was waving smelling salts of all things under her nose. She quickly pushed the bottle away, sending it shattering along the ground. Trelawney hardly seemed to notice, only waited until Hermione seemed steady before continuing with her speech.

"It is imperative that you receive training from me – the inner eye is a difficult thing to master, and if you are not careful you can woo your common sense with false thoughts and throw the true future off track, devastating the very fabric of the world! Who knows what you might have already done to aid the destruction of the future as we know it?"

"Excuse me, but the future can hardly be _ruined. _It hasn't happened yet. What actually does end up happening _is_ the true future, isn't it?" Hermione interrupted, her quite strong and not easily wooable common sense kicking in. Trelawney merely brushed her off.

"No. You should never have left my class, dear child! If you had stayed, perhaps these unsettling events could have been avoided - "

"…now who's tampering with the future…" Hermione grumbled.

" – but as things stand now, the best thing is for you to train under me, privately, focusing on your divinatory specialty rather than the entire broad spectrum of the art, which would take far, far too long. That is not a risk we can take, so the correct course of action is - "

" – for me to check out a book written by a _reliable _source on the subject, if the need arises. I can't say I thank you for your concern, Trelawney, but I can thank you for my new bruises. Good day, and please do stay out of my personal life." Hermione stood up and skittered quickly out the door, unable to stand Trelawney's prattle any longer, and also fearful that the older woman would grab her and fling her down onto a beanbag again. She rushed down the stairs, earning strange glances from the portraits on the walls and nearly falling to her death when a mischievous section of stairway decided to take her on a momentary joyride. Hermione hardly noticed. She was out for blood, specifically Parvati's. How _dare _she go to Trelawney, of all people, with Hermione's deepest, darkest _(only)_ secret? To be sure, Parvati and Lavender placed the woman on a pedestal, and she _was _the resident authority on such things as possibly prophetic dreams, but Hermione had placed them in the strictest of confidences…

…which hadn't been exactly smart, seeing as the two of them were the biggest gossips in the school. Hermione swallowed thickly. She hoped to all that was good in the world that they hadn't let slip to anyone else. The last thing she needed was Snape to call her into his office and demand to know just why rumors were flying around that he was her one and only soulmate. Gods, her life was a mess.

She needed a trip to the library, desperately. Unfortunately, she would be spending her time researching in a section she wouldn't be caught dead in. Until now, that is.

"Divination. Of all the _rotten _luck, I had to have innate talent in _divination_…"

Hours and a splitting headache later, Hermione emerged from the library much worse for wear and on the brink of tears. If divination was a disease, Hermione would be fatally ill. All the symptoms were there – recurring dreams, unaffected by length of sleep, the day's events, conditions, or disposition; having knowledge that one had never come across before; predicting certain situations that later revealed themselves as true – she wanted to die. Only one thing had given her hope – the fact that dreams were highly symbolic, and therefore what one dreamed would not happen exactly, per say, but could symbolize certain situations. Therefore there was no certainty that…events would occur. Her face warmed even when she was avoiding the thought. On the positive side, several authors had assured her that prophetic dreams, while potent and, unfortunately, quite real, Hermione was not afflicted with the same delusions as Trelawney – that is, the dreams would pass as soon as they had fulfilled their "intended purpose", whatever that may be, and she wasn't about to start spouting prophesy like bad advice anytime soon.

Rather disturbing, however, was the book on divinatory potions. The author, it pained her to say, was one she held in the utmost esteem, and therefore she could not discredit his words. The _Adamare Animae, _he said, was a most valid potion, though one he highly recommended not imbibing, as the knowledge of one's soulmate was intended at a certain time, and the premature revelation could be quite disturbing.

Hermione reminded herself to thank him for his ill-timed warning, if she ever met him, with a good punch in the mouth.

At the present moment, though, Hermione had one focus, and one focus only: nourishment. It had been hours since she had eaten last, and her stomach had been offering her opinions on her reading during her time in the library, mainly along the lines of: "Paper is digestible". Heels clacking against the stone, she headed down towards the Great Hall, knowing that she'd get there just about the time that dinner was served. Hermione prided herself on perfect timing – it was good for more than just managing one's schedule.

"Oy! Hermione!" Her head snapped around to see Ron waving her down at the end of the table, spot saved between him and Harry. She groaned inwardly, imagining a long dinner over which Harry and Ron would be spewing Quidditch tidbits (among tidbits of other things, mainly beef and potatoes) across her plate. However, she did honestly need to distract herself, and keeping unwanted pieces of half-chewed food products from hitting her own meal would be _quite_ distracting, she was sure. Sighing resignedly, Hermione made her way over and flashed a tired smile at her housemates before sitting down to the fully stocked table, focused on loading her plate full of the simple but wholesome fare in front of her. Before she lifted her plate to receive the bounty, however, a thick envelope addressed to her name on the side of her table setting caught her eye. Curious, she slid a finger under the flap and withdrew a piece of parchment bedecked with spidery writing.

_Miss Granger,_

_It undermines every fiber in my being to do so, but your exasperatingly high levels of achievement in N.E.W.T. level potions have led me to the conclusion that you are, regrettably, the most promising candidate in my years as a Potions Master for the opportunity of an apprenticeship. Do not presume to become arrogant, however, as I do not do this out of the kindness of my heart, and this will in no way garner any sort of special treatment from me. You should know what this apprenticeship entails – much more work for you outside of your regular classes, including N.E.W.T. level potions, in which I shall give you no leniency on any account, and a seven-year contract of study. Enclosed are the official documents, already signed by me after much internal debate. I shall give you until tomorrow morning at ten of the clock precisely to consider my offer; after that time you shall report to my office with your signatures on these papers and ready to work or a good explanation of why you are rejecting your one possible chance to master the art of potions._

_Professor Severus Snape_

_Potions Master_

_Post Script: In order for you to arrive promptly to give me your answer, I suggest that you take test your potion no later than nine of the clock tonight. If prepared properly, the effects are intended to wear off in ten hours, which should allow you time to prepare for our meeting._

Hermione's eyes flickered up towards the staff table, fever-bright with excitement. Professor Snape was, quite pointedly, scowling at his food and prodding it angrily with his utensils. Hermione's heart pounded with excitement and pride, clutching the letter to her chest. A Potions Mistress. Hermione had never considered herself very good at potions, possibly because of the comparison of those grades to the ones she garnered in other subjects, but this was proof that she had indeed been pushed to levels far above standard. Snape must have been testing her to see if she could withstand the rigor of such an apprenticeship. She'd have to be an imbecile to pass up this opportunity…

…even with the possible distraction of the dancing pink halo around the man who would be her Master.

A cold hand closed around Hermione's heart. Oh, my, would that make things complicated. If she were to believe all that she had read, the man who had just offered her an apprenticeship was her intended mate for the rest of her life, or at least until his time of passing. Perhaps, she realized, the dreams had predicted this turn of events. Perhaps she would have come to adore this man on her own through his close sponsorship. Premature revelations, indeed.

Then again, the ability to see one's intended beloved's aura did indeed fade in one month's time, with the renewal of the moon. And, of course, the information was Hermione's alone to possess; Snape wouldn't know of his intended role, and Hermione was always good at ignoring things she found unpleasant. She'd have a nice chat with Lavender and Parvati before she went to see Professor Snape the next morning. The girls had conveniently decided not to attend dinner that evening, most likely because of Parvati's previous transgression. As soon as she got them sorted out, she could pursue what could become her life's ambition.

Yes; it could work out, as long as her secrets stayed secret.

Bright and early Saturday morning, Hermione rose to prepare for her meeting with Parvati and Lavender, and, subsequently, Professor Snape. She took time to look her most professional, wrestling her wet hair into a structured bun with luck and a most obscene amount of pins once she was dressed in a freshly ironed uniform. The circles under her eyes had diminished significantly due to the much cherished effects of her _quite _perfect Dreamless Sleep potion, and the resulting lack of distressing slumber. Mentally, she prepared herself for the possible – probable, really – verbal abuse that would be a part of the Professor's acknowledgement of her acceptance, and for the strength it would take to not be distracted by the damnable roseate lightshow gallivanting about his person. Finally, she tidied up the apprentice documents she had read over and signed earlier that morning, as well as a stack of blackmail she had saved up concerning her two very lovely Gryffindor gossips for just this purpose, in case she needed an extra bargaining tool in her negotiations with the young ladies.

Rather satisfied, Hermione made her way down to breakfast, planning on grabbing a quick bite and hunting down the girls in the meantime. The Hall was filling up as she entered, but she still managed a seat near Lavender and Parvati, which she claimed while delicately reaching for a hot roll.

"Lavender? Parvati? Do try and finish your breakfasts quickly. I have some matters to speak to you about, and it must be done before nine, if you can. I trust you can anticipate the topic?" The girls exchanged guilty glances, Lavender's eyes flickering to the staff table where Professor Snape sat brooding, fingers rubbing the bridge of his nose as if he had a splitting headache. Hermione watched his other hand fumbling for his strong black tea, noting how the flickering aura integrated seamlessly into the morning light, making the dark and somewhat disheveled man into something from a Michelangelo. Slightly disturbed, Hermione focused her eyes back on her plate and bit into her roll quite forcefully, as if to jar the image from her head. She finished her meal quite quickly, and then waited patiently for Parvati and Lavender to finish theirs. Fortunately, they both seemed to have lost their appetites, and soon were following Hermione to her rooms, making quite a solemn procession from the Great Hall.

Had any of them chanced to look behind, they would have seen how the sight of the leader of the procession on this fine morning drained the color from a certain Potion Master's cheeks.

"It has come to my understanding," Hermione began, falling into lecture mode, "that one of you, I won't say any names, has been meddling in the business that we discussed earlier. Now, it's extremely necessary that word of my…situation doesn't leave the three of us, and _especially _doesn't, in any fashion, reach our Potion Professor. At dinner last night I received an invitation to work under him as an apprentice, and eventually gain my _mastery _in Potions, which is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Please, please do not mess this up for me. You know that I value academics above everything – including your reputations, which, may I say, are quite interesting, particularly the little-known facts that I have acquired recently due to my position as Head girl – and so if this opportunity is threatened, I will go to any means to wreak revenge on the person or persons who have threatened it. Is that clear?"

Lavender and Parvati had listened through Hermione's entire speech with gradually paling faces. The look of guilt on their faces was priceless, as was the quick transition to fear when she mentioned their reputations. Incredibly enterprising, they nodded quickly in agreement and babbled their reassurances that, from this point on, there would be no other meddling, no other transgressions, unless Hermione explicitly asked their assistance. Satisfied, Hermione bid them a good day and headed down towards the dungeons, heart much lighter, to accept the position of apprentice.

As soon as they were alone, both girls turned to each other.

"Lavender, I think I made a mistake - "

"Parvati, I think I made a mistake - "

Each stopped, the simultaneous admissions creating strange harmonics in the empty room. Parvati and Lavender stared at one another, and then, again in chorus, exclaimed,

"What did _you _do?"

* * *

And now onto my unabridged thank yous! For those who are not concerned with them, thank you for reading and please let me know how I'm doing! No criticism is unwanted, as I want to give only Eggplant and Caviar to my readers. 

**vanityfair: **I'm so relieved you like my Snape, and I pity you for having unruly students. Perhaps you should try being the "mean teacher" for a bit, see how it goes. Or refuse to speak in anything but English, and throw a few harmless insults in with your chatter to see if anyone picks it up. My Spanish teacher used to do that…it was hilarious for me, since I actually knew what he was talking about.

**Winter Solstice1:** The Snape chapters just seem to need more prose than dialogue due to his somewhat cloistered persona…I'm glad you think I'm handling that well! Thank you for your kind words about my Snape…and believe me, he will squirm.

**Strega-in-progress: **Terribly sorry about your cold! I've had the aftereffects of bronchitis for weeks on end, myself, so I'm really sympathizing here. I'm flattered that you enjoy my explanation of Snape's admiration of Hermione so much – it just seemed the most realistic thing to do. As for my love life, you'll be sure to see small little rants here on it from time to time. I like to have a personal relationship with my readers, as you can probably tell

**Kishkitten36: **I find it quite endearing that you say you are sorry you couldn't review sooner and you happen to review within a day of me posting this chapter. I adore you. Thank you for your lovely words on my development of Snape, and kudos for catching the hints I threw. There are a few more in this one as to new developments, and I've already begun work on the next chapter, which should be a fun one. Thank you also for your encouragements on this troublesome friend of mine – your story is amazing and beautiful, and I can only hope mine turns out as well, though the possibility of marriage is a little far-fetched with this relationship. Then again, who knows?

**LauraNotLora:** I'm so glad you think that my Snape is fresh and believable – that's the best compliment I could ask for!

**Pathatlon: **Concise and flattering as always, my dear!

**VictoriaM2006: **Thank you for your enthusiasm, and I shall check out your story as soon as I tie up loose ends here. Looking forward to it!

**SmeagulTheWeasul: **Thank you kindly for your flattering words. I do love Phantom of the Opera, but I don't think I'd consider myself a Phan, in the capitalized-altered-spelling sense. Now a question for you: does your Love and Peace signoff have anything to do with an insurance risk with a fondness for donuts?

**Killer Angel: **Your review left me speechless…I'm so incredibly touched! Honestly, you made my day!

**ARCurious:** I'm glad you're enjoying my Snape. All these positive reviews have given me renewed confidence in him, and hopefully he'll only improve. Pass that Pepperup potion.

**Cake: **I must admit to getting inspiration for the section you quoted from my English professor's focus on existentialism these past weeks – that whole bit about needing to struggle to find meaning came out of the study of a book called Man's Search for Meaning by Victor Frankl. My professor worked with him and had a personal relationship with him, so we got lots of insights on his philosophies. I recommend reading it if you are at all interested in existentialism, humanity, and the meaning of life. I'm incredibly flattered that a picky reader is satisfied with my work – that's the best kind of affirmation. And I'm sorry for making you spit water…the author that has the most influence of my writing is Terry Pratchett, who has made me do the same thing countless times. I really didn't intend for this story to be so humorous, but the Pratchett influence takes over when I'm typing. Thanks also for your kind words on my "situation." I really appreciate it.

**L Moonshade: **Thank you for your enthusiasm! I'm so relieved that my Snape passes inspection for so many. There's another Severus chapter in the works, and more to come whenever the story takes that direction. They'll probably become more frequent as time goes on.

**Morpolpunk: **You just made my jaw drop. I'm incredibly thrilled that I've turned someone to "the dark side" with my writing, and I'm even more thrilled that you consider my writing mature and enjoy my characterization. Hopefully I can keep your interest in the future!

**Ciladis: **Thank you for your kind words, and wish granted! A new Snape POV is in the works as well.

**Vickie211:** I'm glad you're pleased with this chapter…subtlety is fun to write, but more difficult to come up with than Hermione's Gryffindor brashness. Many surprises are in the works.

**Fabhcun: **I'm happy you enjoy my Snape and think he's in character As to your hopes that my situation improves, well, either way I'm getting plenty of inspiration from real life, so you needn't worry about that. I do thank you for your good wishes, though!

**Holly Mariano: **Your review made me smile. I hope this chapter is up to your standards!

**Transylvanian: **You only need wait a little while longer…

That's all, folks! Mil besos, mis queridos!


	7. Intrigue

Short Disclaimer: If I owned it, there'd be a lot more Snape in the books. A lot a lot more Snape.

I have read this over and over a thousand times, and I'm still not satisfied. Then again, every artist is her toughest critic. Let me know how I did, mis queridos, and, above all, enjoy!

Replies to your reviews are at the bottom again. I love you all.

* * *

A hangover does not a happy man make. Severus Snape woke to a throbbing headache and a tongue the size of a mattress, Ogden's Firewhiskey clutched in one clawlike hand. He couldn't question his motives for imbibing so much to drink, but he could ask himself what, exactly, had _driven_ him to make the decision that drove him to drink. "Miss Granger," he muttered, wiping his face with his hand as if to remove everything from the glistening patina of sweat down to the features themselves. So much for Slytherin loyalty, but indeed his house had been on a steady decline since the rise of Voldemort. Too many assumed that ambition for power meant following blindly one who had a good deal of it, rather than pursuing one's own private interests in an honorable fashion. It was all one big mess, and producing a house full of sheep instead of wolves. Slytherin might as well have been Hufflepuff gone bad – or stupid, as the case seemed to be. So now Severus Snape was stuck with a Gryffindor mudblood know-it-all for the first apprentice he had ever taken on. "Brilliant, Severus. Your deductive reasoning astounds me." The acidic tones the Potions Master used on himself held twice the sting of those he used on his students, undiluted by an underlying hope that they would spur the victim into improvement.

Severus sat up slowly, acclimating to the change before getting out of bed and shuffling over to his cabinet. A bottle of hangover remedy, near-gone, rested on the top shelf. He eyed it suspiciously, unsure if there was enough for a full dose, but downed the rest of it quickly, desperate for relief. The effects were not instantaneous as they should have been, pain fading slowly to a dull throb, not much more than a magnified heartbeat but uncomfortable all the same. Severus swore quietly, kneading his forehead with one hand. He should have checked his stores before indulging in far too much Ogden's. Granger's fault, all Granger's fault. For a moment, he considered withdrawing his proposal entirely, slamming his door in her face as soon as she had arrived and cackling like a mad bat as she ran back to Gryffindor Tower, crying. The moment soon ended, however, as he berated himself on transferring the blame for his own foolish actions onto a student that had done little more than irritate him with her abundance of intellect, which was a genetic problem, really. Besides, the bloody documents were signed already; the deed was done. Gritting his teeth, he pulled on a set of robes and leaned on his elbows in front of the mirror, scraping his appearance together and vowing not to touch another drop of alcohol until Christmas, at least.

The Great Hall was agony. Even with the muffling effect of sleep still hanging over the students, the sheer number of them allowed for an intolerable volume. Severus was grateful for the fact that his reputation hardly required a bright, cheery smile like that of Sprout's. He didn't know what the woman did to keep the grin permanently plastered on her face, especially after a long weekend. Severus knew the woman had a taste for drink and no head for it; being the brewer of hangover remedies had its interesting blackmail opportunities, to be sure. Fortunately for her career, though, the woman had sense enough to stick to drinking solely on days not followed by classes or House duties. If her drinking had interfered with her ability as a teacher, Severus would have stopped making her remedies long ago and had her suffer the consequences. It was at best hypocritical on a day like today – here he was with a hangover moments before meeting with his horribly observant apprentice for the first time. Severus hoped she would be too overcome with academic euphoria to notice.

Taking his place at the head table, Severus ordered his morning usual of strong black tea, fresh fruit, and whole grain toast, knowing he'd need to keep up his strength even if he didn't particularly have an appetite. He could tell this would be a long morning, not even considering the day. Severus watched as Granger walked in, proud as a peacock, and sat next to Parvati and Lavender, apparently by choice. The girl had the most abhorrent taste in friends, to be sure. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Severus groped for his tea with the other hand, pleading that the caffeine would take the edge off of his headache. Instead, however, the throbbing in his head seemed to increase as he downed the strong brew, and he was certain he tasted cinnamon in the mix. The elves must have been experimenting with different types of tea again. Methodically, he ate the rest of his breakfast, sipping tea in between fruit and toast to cleanse his palate, until his plate was clear and his cup was empty. Checking his pocket watch, he noted that it was ten past nine – high time for him to get prepared for Granger's visit. At the thought of her name, he glanced up at the Gryffindor table to see if she had already left –

- and saw Miss Granger in a whole new light.

Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master, prided himself on the knowledge he possessed as a result of his long and arduous apprenticeship as well as his continual study of the field. He knew the ingredients, method, theory, and effects of every potion published in every reliable source available on the subject up through the current year, and several of those were potions he had developed himself. However, ignorance is bliss, for, quite unfortunately, Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master, knew the effects of the _Adamare Animae _when he saw them.

Face draining of color, he could do nothing more than watch Granger walk out of the room, haloed in a rosy gleam and followed by two of her housemates, completely oblivious to the shock and horror echoing through Severus's mind. Cinnamon. His tea! Someone must have slipped the potion into his tea. But who? There were precious few qualified to brew the potion, and precious fewer who could afford such a thing and then _waste _it on the greasy Potions professor at Hogwarts, whom everyone assumed had no heart nor soul to join. _Albus, _he thought, venom coursing through his veins. The man always goaded him to loosen up, get out into the world, let his guard down for a moment or two. Yes, it must have been…

But, then again, Albus knew the danger in imbibing the _Adamare Animae._ The knowledge of one's soulmate was intended for a proper time and place; premature recognition of such a thing could lead to emotional scarring and an upset of the drinker's life and health. _Indeed._ His dark eyes darted around the staff table, only then seeing Sybill Trelawney staring vacantly at the ceiling, toying with her napkin in her lap. Severus curled his lips back in a snarl, fighting the urge to rip the woman apart. Of course. The _Adamare Animae _was a divinatory potion, not to mention the woman had been dropping hints about "getting on with his love life", "exploring the sacred realms of _amore_", and "cleaning up a bit, for you'd be a rather attractive man if you washed your hair, clipped your nails, straightened your nose, got a bit of sun, wiped that scowl off your face…" At the time, he had thought Trelawney had been looking to get a date for the Yule Ball far in advance. How wrong he was.

Severus's anger was consumed by the sickly pall of dread and fear. No one could know about this. Not Trelawney – he'd have to pretend that the potion didn't work, or that he didn't see his soulmate anywhere and therefore she did not exist in the realm of the school. He certainly couldn't go to Albus – for one, relations with students were strictly forbidden; for two, it could possibly appear that his offer of apprenticeship was motivated by something other than a grudging respect; thirdly, he had no proof that it was Trelawney that brewed the potion and therefore all he would accomplish would be arousing Albus's suspicions of his intentions with Miss Granger – _of which he certainly didn't have any_! Granger couldn't know, of course – he'd have to be careful to ignore it with all his power, and not give into any thoughts on the matter. There was a time and place for everything, and this _was not it._ Perhaps forty years down the road, when he had forgotten about all the toil she had put him through, and she had forgotten all of the acid he had spit upon her, and they met somewhere at a Potions convention and discussed a lecture over coffee…perhaps then was the intended time and place for a relationship to spark up, as distasteful as it sounded. Certainly not in the budding stages of a seven-year apprenticeship.

_Damn,_ he swore, squeezing his eyes shut and placing his hands over his face. _I shouldn't have signed those documents._ But who could have foreseen these events? He had beaten himself up over the fact that she was a Gryffindor, for Salazar's sake, but now, because of Trelawney's damnable intervention, he would spend the next seven years of his life tutoring the young woman who was destined to be his soulmate.

And what a bloody horrible choice of a soulmate she was! A student! He was old enough to be her _father, _and she was quite possibly the most aggravating student he had ever had. It had taken him seven years to come to terms with the fact that she was good enough to tutor in the deeper secrets of Potions, by Merlin. How many years would it take for him to get used to the idea that she was his _destined love?_ Not to mention propriety, or even his own feelings. He didn't find her attractive in the _least. _She was so…_Gryffindor._ Foolish, obnoxious, nosy, irritating, loud, arrogant…the list ran on and on. She had the body of a child, no less! The thought was sickening. How old _was _she, anyway? Seventeen? Eighteen? He was _thirty-eight,_ at least twenty years older, if not more.

And what about _Miss Granger's _thoughts on the matter? He had harangued her and goaded her, prodded her and pushed her, insulted her and humiliated her for the past six years. Severus was under no illusions of what his students thought about him – the greasy git, the old bat, the quite-possibly-vampire, the sallow-faced potions professor who hovered over cauldrons and displayed blatant favoritism to his own house while drastically undermining the others. Even if he should succumb to whatever charms she hid under her know-it-all veneer, there was no possible hope of reciprocation. Severus knew that for a fact. Never, never in his life had he possessed more than the platonic love of another. He had himself yearned, a weakness he was loath to admit, but never had he seen affection or adoration in the eyes of a woman. The thought solidified under his skin, a cold barb beneath a concrete shell. However, a hot dart of anger shattered the sensation in an instant. _A student, by Mercury! Get hold of yourself, you loathsome pedophile! _A shudder ran up his spine and he rose abruptly, stalking out of the Hall as fast as his long legs could carry him. Blasted potion. Blasted Trelawney. Blasted unwanted notions spiraling through his thought process. _Blasted lunar cycle! _he raged silently. It would be seventeen days before the new moon and the erasure of the potion's effects. Seventeen days until he could use a Penseive and forget this ever happened.

Seventeen days to find out if he _wanted _to forget.

Severus cursed himself for his traitorous thoughts, but could not deny that the prospect of _companionship _was…incredibly tempting. _You're weak, Severus. Weaker by the instant. Remember that she is a child. A student. An apprentice. _Repeating the mantra over and over in his head, he reached his quarters and sat down at a desk, head in arms and headache providing a relentless backbeat to his agonizing thoughts.

Parvati stared. "Oh _Merlin._ So you gave her - "

" – the vial of potion because I was afraid to use it, and she had been looking for a sample for ages, anyway, but _you _told her - "

" – that Hermione was having prophetic dreams about Snape. Oh Merlin. We can't tell Hermione. Right now she only knows that Sybill knows about the dreams. But if Sybill did what I think she did…"

Lavender's face flew through a myriad of expressions, from guilt to intrigue to horror, until her mouth formed into an "o" of pleasant surprise. If both Snape and Hermione had now taken the potion, and if both were left oblivious to the fact that the other was under the same spell, what on earth would happen? It wasn't a disaster at all – no, it was an opportunity straight out of a romance novel. Lavender, a voyeur by nature, intended to enjoy every second of it. "Parvati my sweet? This could get good."

Severus's head snapped up as he sensed his wards being breached. Someone was on the way, most likely Granger from the time on the clock. She was always punctual, wasn't she? On the dot, if not sooner. It was something that annoyed him to all ends. Not one of the detentions he had given her stemmed from tardiness, though that was one of the largest causes for all detentions he had ever given. He would love to, just once, catch her late, awarding her a juicy detention in the process and crowing over her lapse of timeliness with snarky comments all throughout the hours she spent scrubbing the vilest of cauldrons. The thought brought a gorgeously twisted smile to his face, but a knock on the door just as the clock was gearing up to strike ten wiped all traces of the grin and replaced it with a stoic façade. _No reaction, _he reminded himself. _Not even if the aura blinds you._ He stood, brushing aside all the wrinkles that had formed in his robes, and walked to the door, pausing until he was certain she was just about to knock again, hoping to catch her off guard and looking foolish.

He succeeded, but had to keep every muscle tensed in order to avoid reeling.

It was lucky that Severus was a man of few, and very carefully chosen, words, or he could have been described as "speechless." The aura was glaring bright in a quite garish shade of pink, thanks to the potion, and he could hardly see Granger at first for the dazzle. It was hearsay that auras varied in brightness in relation to the owner's vitality; Severus speculated that Granger started every morning with a brisk ten-mile jog and a judo session if this was the case. Soon, however, his vision (or, rather, his mind) was able to adjust to the circumstances and the same skinny, large-eyed girl he had glared at for six years and counting could be seen, though her usual unruly hair was twisted into a passing (but still unruly) bun. Her jaw was clenched into an expression of extreme pride, which made Severus itch to insult her, and she held out the completed documents like an offering to the gods. He took them without a word, glancing through with fervent hope that she either hadn't signed them or had missed one, allowing him to terminate the contract. Unfortunately, Granger was known for her thoroughness. Defeated, Severus made his way to his cabinets and carefully filed the documents away. He turned to find Granger still hovering in his doorway, looking at him with extreme trepidation.

"Well?" He raised an eyebrow. "Do you prefer standing in doorways to chairs, or are you worried that an earthquake might strike? I assure you, Hogwarts shall not fall into pieces at the slightest tremor, if that is the case." Granger glared at him, but gingerly sought a seat on the opposite side of his desk. Severus took his time in taking his own, folding his hands onto the desk and looking her in the eye for a good many moments, until Granger's gaze flickered away. _Now _it was time to begin this meeting, when he was completely in control.

"I'm disappointed in you." Granger looked back up at him with a speed and ferocity that reminded him of a wounded tiger. He nearly smiled. "I'd have thought you would be smarter than to sign the next seven years of your life over to the very subject that has tormented you from day one." Severus waited for a response, but was not kept in suspense long.

"It's only tormented me because you were more dissatisfied with my work than anyone else's, even though it was better than anything else produced in your classes."

"And things will not change now." He watched as this registered in her eyes before continuing. "If anything, I will be harder on you. I will test your potential like a bridge made out of toothpicks – putting more and more pressure on you until you finally break. That is the first year of this apprenticeship. Then I will rebuild you to my own standards, which will be the goal of the next few years, and finally you will find standards of your own, above mine, for which you will aspire for the remainder of your life. I hope I am not saying anything you didn't already expect, for the papers are signed and you, Miss Granger, are past the point of no return."

He had to give her credit for not squirming. However, looking deeper into her eyes he saw a spark of fear. A moment's analysis surprised him – she was not looking at him; rather, Granger was looking _through _him, and therefore the fear was introspective. The greasy old git didn't frighten her – the possibility of her not being able to obtain her own standards did. The glassy stare vanished quickly, and she looked him straight in the eye, squaring her shoulders.

"I know what I signed up for, Professor."

Severus nodded, feeling a bit of pride in his apprentice despite himself. "Satisfactory," he replied, and rose from his desk. "Come. We will begin immediately."

She was efficient, and quiet about it. Severus monitored her from one corner, carefully staying out of her way with wand at the ready lest she make a mistake. He approved of the way she moved – she had not been in his private laboratory for more than twenty minutes before she darted back and forth between stations smoothly and without pause. She diced, minced, cut, measured, and peeled ingredients with careful skill and natural rhythm, a sign of natural ability that he had detected long ago in small doses, but now, with a large space entirely to herself, it shone as bright as the horrible pink aurora that consumed her boyish form. Severus felt satisfaction well up inside of him – he hadn't lost his touch. She was a perfect choice, in theory. True, there were the…complications of her being a Gryffindor and…other things. He berated himself for not being able to bend his mind around the fact that she was, according to everyone he respected in the Potions community, inevitably destined to be his soulmate. The concept was so alien, so absurd…and not even because it was Granger, of all people, but because he had lived thirty-eight years without any conformation that he would ever _have _a soulmate.

He should have recognized the taste, he realized, memories rising unbidden like bile. Years ago, longer than he cared to admit, he had imbibed the _Adamare Animae_ in a moment of desperation. He had been in his seventh year, watching relationships spring up around him, but having no beloved to call his own. Severus had run about the school, peering into every door, looking into every face like a madman. He had run out to Hogsmeade, potion throbbing in his veins, but there was no glow around any woman, or even any man. That night had been spent locked up in the Astronomy tower, arms tight around his thin legs, tears alternately summoned and repressed, mind a whirl of anger, disappointment, and shame. It had been one of the darker moments of his life, one that he had forgotten until that very moment.

So much more pleasant to push the memory back into the recesses of his mind and concentrate on dissecting Granger's work, finding minute errors and inconsistencies with which to form a seemingly endless list that would, without a doubt, wound his apprentice and goad her to push herself further. The tenseness in her shoulders and limbs betrayed her nervousness, her will to impress; it would be absolutely delightful to reduce her to tears, especially with what _she _was putting _him _through.

And now she was looking up at him with that most transparent of faces, shining with the need for recognition, affirmation. The potion sat glistening in its receptacle, textbook-perfect and yet subtly wrong to Severus's honed senses: smelling a little sour, color a shade and a half off. He took several moments to simply scowl at the girl before starting on his list of criticisms.

"Your work would be passable in but a first year classroom, Miss Granger. Your accuracy when chopping is abysmal; while not stated as an essential component in any textbook you've read, uniformly chopped ingredients greatly improve the texture of the potion. Keep your eyes on what you're chopping – it will serve you far better than glances to check whether or not I see how rhythmically you dissect ingredients. Secondly, you seem to become rather sloppy when several ingredients are added in quick succession. You have plenty of time if you make your movements efficient; there is no need for you to hurl things into your cauldron. For another thing, potions making is not cooking. Even if you follow each direction to the letter, you still won't have a potion unless you pour your very _soul_ into it. You are far too reserved in this art, Miss Granger." He enjoyed the shocked look on her face and the hot words that bubbled up near the surface and then subsided in red-faced shame. However, Granger did not stay shamed for long.

"What do you mean, far too reserved? You hardly say anything except to insult your students. Who are you to judge how _reserved _I am?"

"Spare me your offense, Miss Granger. I am not speaking of the tendencies of extroversion nor introversion. By all means be reserved in speech and manner around your classmates – I'm sure they'd all enjoy the repose. What I am speaking of is dedication to the art. When you create your potion, the outside world does not exist. The cauldron is your whole universe, the ladle an extension of your arm, the ingredients the very atoms of your being. You are not merely throwing together a concoction; you are copying the desires of your mind and heart and recreating them in corporeal form. If you do not give of yourself, there is no magic, and your potion, while 'accurate', is devoid of all meaning." Severus stopped, realizing he had rambled on without thinking, caught up in the passion of his subject. Granger was staring at him, face open and haloed in a feverish, fanatic glow. The sight jarred him to the core. Her face was so like his own in that moment, a mirror image of the inspiration and joy he had felt when he first discovered the beauty of the field. Half of him wanted to reach out and embrace her in shared jubilation, but the other, stronger side instinctively gave the call to retreat.

"As I said, the subtle art of potions is not cooking. Anything but." His face closed again, shuttering out the transparent adulation of his student and the halo that wreathed her in an unworldly veil. He would do well to remember that, even in his private chambers, there was no sanctuary. His joys, his loves, his passions could all be exploited, destroyed, stolen from him in an instant. Severus reserved himself for his potions, and his potions only.

Anything else was far too much of a risk.

* * *

And now onto my unabridged thank yous! For those who are not concerned with them, thank you for reading and please let me know how I'm doing! No criticism is unwanted, as I want to give only Eggplant and Caviar to my readers.

**Madelynn Rae: **Patience, miss impatience. Of course, by the time you read this you've already got your "fix" XD And I'm sure you found the answer to your question in this chapter.

**VictoriaM2006: **I model Hermione's inner monologues on my own…I'm glad you like it. It's always fun to get inside someone's head. I'm sorry for the cliffhanger, but it seemed a good place to stop. If I gave you a satisfying chapter ending, you'd be only half as interested in the next one. XD

**Ciladis: **I've never heard Severus described as darling, but I think you for the compliment! And Parvati and Lavender do deserve what came to them, as you can see here. I'm glad you're enjoying yourself!

**LauraNotLora: **I know, I know, it's too cliché, but I was at wits end to find a way to stick them together. The only possibilities I can see are a) time travel (which takes all the fun out of this relationship), b) a potions accident (which I find it hard to believe Hermione is capable of), c) an apprenticeship, d) a Death Eater encounter (far too angsty), e) a marriage contract (too close to the WIKTT challenge) or f) Hermione returning as a professor (if she's not a student, there isn't much conflict). An apprenticeship gives the most versatility, and is better than locking them in a closet together – she has to stick with him for seven years. I swear on my CD collection that I will try my hardest to keep this as original as possible. As for Lavender…well, you certainly found out! I seriously appreciate your honesty and well rounded reviews

**Vickie211: **You guessed it! You really must have the psychic hair! Trelawney was incredibly fun to write – I'm glad you enjoyed her. As for the letter from Snape, I must have rewritten that as many times as this new chapter (lol)! I'm so happy that you had fun with this chapter!

**Lady Cecilia: **I'm flattered that you enjoy my writing style! As for your comment on chapters, I honestly don't know how long this will get, or how many chapters. I stop when a stopping point presents itself – chances are, if this gets many many many chapters long, I'll reorganize it into fewer, longer chapters. I doubt it will, though…I am, after all, a Gemini. We find it hard to stick to one project for long! XD

**Mahlie: **Your enthusiasm made me smile! As for real romance…I have no clue when that will crop up. Little hints here and there…but, after all, good things come to those who wait!

**OrangeRabbit: **Oh my. Your review made me blush. I don't quite know how I pull your laugh strings…I guess I just find strange things funny and try to get the rest of the world to see it that way. I'm glad you like my Granger, as you call her. Psychologist mode I figure that her overconfidence and constant need for achievement stems from something deep and dark inside – perhaps she feels the need to prove herself and shatter the "Mudblood" stereotype, perhaps she is in desperate need of attention and approval. I like to think that a lot of Rowling's characters go much deeper than is shown, and the deeper the better. As for your fear of those horrible clichéd words, well, I give you permission to beat me to within an inch of my life if I use those words. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but phrases like that make me gag.

**Holly Mariano: **I'm happy you liked Severus's letter and Hermione's responses to the other characters, and am flattered that you think my work is improving as I go. As for your comments on Harry and Ron, I don't plan on them having a large role in this story. I've never liked either of them, to be honest…and I really hate writing for them. When I do decide to have them play a role in a chapter, however, I will be putting all my soul into making them human. What Hermione was referring to was their idle chatter, which, unlike that which she prefers, hardly centers around academics and higher order thinking. They're teenage boys; like my best buds talk about video games, Harry and Ron talk about Quidditch. I'm writing what I know. Wow, this got long. I hope I cleared things up for you By all means, though, please continue with criticisms. I thoroughly enjoy them, and you've made me think deeper about my writing.

**Strega-in-progress: **Raving madness is incredibly fun to write…I'm going to have to pull Trelawney in again. I'm happy you enjoyed Snape's diction in the letter…that thing was so hard to write. I'm glad you're better from your cold, and terribly sorry about your hangover. You had a kindred spirit in poor Severus in this chapter, though And I'm incredibly flattered that this is one of your favorite stories…you are inflating my ego, and it feels fabulous!

Also thanks to: **azulkan2, Emily, Natsuyori, Ashes Kittyhawk, Transylvanian, Aleatha515, Cake101, Nelys1, fresh8, Pathatlon, **and **I-LUV-ILC** ! Every review is highly appreciated. You guys inspire me and goad me to write…without you, I wouldn't have made it to chapter 2.


	8. Imbroglio

Short Disclaimer: If I owned it, I'd kill off Harry at the end of every book and resurrect him at the beginning of the next, just like Kenny from South Park, which I also do not own.

Holy utility belt, Batman! This story has gone over 100 reviews! I'm speechless, stunned, and eternally grateful for your attentions.

A few of you have cried out for more Ron and Harry, so I threw them in for a bit. Still, it must be made known that I loathe both characters, so don't expect me to favor them in any way. Other than that, this chapter is a chapter. It's taken me days upon days to write, and I finally got sick of it, so I'll throw it out to you wolves.

Replies to your reviews are at the bottom again. I love you all.

* * *

Hermione left the dungeons in a sort of daze, wounds from Professor Snape's barbs glossed over by the new insights she had gained in just a few seconds of dialogue. Her heart was beating with full intensity, as if she had just run a mile, and her face was flushed and warm even in the chill air. That had, without a doubt, been one of the most surreal experiences in her life.

She had knocked on the door to his office with trepidation, a mantra running through her mind to keep herself in control, though the combined effects of the Potion Master's less-than-amicable attitude and the ever-present aura reminding her that this man was the closest thing she'd ever get to a soul mate were certainly formidable elements. However, it was surprisingly easy to keep herself in check. Somehow, the man's presence was quite comforting, though his ominous poise smothered all thoughts of bringing up the subject of the _Adamare Animae_, even on a purely cerebral context. The working environment was quite conducive to the young witch's methods, and she found the time slipping away from underneath her fingers. From time to time she had glanced up to search for approval or warning in the man's eyes, but his stony veneer gave away absolutely nothing.

And then she was done, and then he was criticizing her, and then in a flurry of heady passion she snapped back…

And then her world had dropped away.

She had never, not in all her time at Hogwarts, seen that look on his face. She wasn't sure what it was that was that had shaken her so – whether it was the aura blazing around him like a surge of captive fire, or the glow in his eyes, or the expression that looked almost like love. The words that had poured from his mouth were silk, and chocolate, and every cliché you could think of wrapped in a sonorous timbre. More than the sound of them was the meaning behind them – this man had dedicated himself completely to something that encompassed his entire world, a world which only he could describe. And Hermione would be learning the only thing that this man loved. The prospect sent shivers up her spine, though she chided herself mentally. It would be too easy to just give into the potion, though the adverse effects – especially if her sentiments were not returned – would be far more difficult than keeping her head. She was the only one aware of their future bond at this moment, and for that reason had the responsibility to not rush into things. One beautiful speech by a loathsome man was not reason enough to throw herself at his feet.

Yet, what else had she been doing since the second she stepped in his classroom?

The thought was absurd, and Hermione smothered it immediately. Vying for good grades and a little respect was not throwing herself at his feet. There was never any affection there, never any lust on her part. She simply wanted…

Affirmation. Approval. Acknowledgement. That wasn't a crime, was it? Apparently it was, in her Professor's opinion. Master's opinion. My goodness, that sounded kinky. _Certainly not!_ No…no indeed. This was not the time to be thinking those thoughts. She was simply enamored with the man's dedication to his field. He was an exemplary man, academically speaking, and as she was infatuated with academics it was quite natural for her to feel a similar infatuation with the man, cued by the _Adamare Animae._

Hermione let out a sigh. It had been fun to pretend for a while, at least.

However, now reality called. The horrible reality of telling her two best friends that (Who would have thought? Isn't it amazing? Aren't you surprised?) the greasy git, the bat of the dungeons, the head sleaze of Slytherin, had given her, the Gryffindor Golden Girl, a position as his apprentice?

She wondered vaguely who they'd think had gone madder, Snape or their dear Hermione?

Ron nearly spit all over himself. As it was, the force was so impressive that he missed his own lap and drenched Dean Thomas instead.

"Hey!"

"Have you gone completely batshit, Hermione?" Well, there was her answer, she supposed. "You don't even _like _potions, much less _Snape_, and now you've signed away the next seven years of your life to _both _of them?"

Hermione opened her mouth to respond, but Harry jumped to her rescue. "Oh, come off it, Ron. Hermione's _brilliant _in potions, even if Snape tries to prove otherwise, and this is a fantastic opportunity for her. I mean, for _Snape_ gave her the position, she's got to be a bloody genius or he'd never even consider her." Harry grinned at his brunette friend warmly. "Congratulations, Hermione."

Hermione returned the grin tenfold. "Thanks Harry."

Ron rolled his eyes, but his lips quirked to the side in a lopsided smile and he conceded. "Fine. Congratulations, Hermione. But if you ever need to escape, just yell and I'll fly my broom through the dungeons to rescue you, you hear?"

"Will you say, 'I told you so'?" Hermione quipped. Ron laughed.

"Probably." That earned him a small yet affectionate punch from Hermione, who was simultaneously beaming at the world around her.

"Really, as Harry said, it _is _a wonderful opportunity. I mean, how many chances do you get to master a field, and then again start on that before you even graduate?" Hermione's eyes were stars.

"You don't still have to take Potions as well, do you?" Ron asked. Harry looked curious as well. Hermione snorted.

"Of course I do. The apprenticeship is an extracurricular enterprise."

"You're overdoing it, Hermione," Harry murmured, concerned. "You're Head Girl, taking a huge course load…when will you have time to yourself?"

"Oh, Harry. You know she just studies in her spare time, anyway," Ron pointed out from behind a mouthful of chicken. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Fine, when will you study then, huh?" Harry retorted, smiling. The young witch shrugged.

"I'll find time."

"Not the time turner again!" both boys hissed, earning a scathing glance from their friend.

"Will you shush about that? I'm not doing that again, it already took enough years off my life." She made an expression of extreme distaste. "Honestly, that was stressful even for me, not to mention what _you _dragged me into," she added, looking pointedly at Harry. He had the grace to look slightly guilty, but not so much that she actually believed he felt much remorse – the boy had too much on his plate to regret having his friends help him when he got in a tight spot. "Anyway, it's all rather fascinating so far. And he's really not _so _caustic, that is, until I finish my potion and he picks it apart. I mean the tiniest little things - " Her friend's expressions were glazing over. Hermione stopped, her mind going back to the room in the dungeons. _By all means be reserved in speech and manner around your classmates – I'm sure they'd all enjoy the repose. _She shut her mouth. Perhaps now would be a good time to be reserved in 'speech and manner'. She had been criticized about her habits before, but somehow coming from Snape it was more effective. Hermione had the strangest urge to follow his advice, to please him. "But enough about this whole situation," she amended. "What have you boys been up to?"

It was interesting, she realized, how much information you gained by actually_ observing._ Usually, Hermione merely hid a book in her lap while she was at the table, making appropriate noises of assent and disappointment as she monitored the tone of voice her friends were using. Now, however, she was able to pick up on the subtle signals flying around Gryffindor. Dean was eyeing Lavender and whispering something to Seamus, who was turning the faintest shade of red. Lavender, in turn, was sending frightened-yet-curious glances in Hermione's direction when she thought the brunette witch wasn't looking. Ron and Harry, meanwhile, were discussing the most unlikely of subjects – Neville Longbottom's love life. Hermione was fascinated despite herself. There was so much going on, so much that she hadn't noticed before. Being reserved in speech and manner paid off in the strangest of ways, and yet she found herself quickly growing attached to the experience. Obviously, Hermione would be learning much more than potion-making skills in her apprenticeship. Strange, how one little utterance could change her perspective, at least for a meal, if not longer. Hermione wondered what else the man had up his sleeve. Her eyes wandered to the staff table, where his now-familiar glow dominated her field of vision. He was glowering at Trelawney, who seemed to be demonstrating something with the salt and pepper shakers, completely oblivious to his obvious aggravation. Hermione's muscles tensed instinctively, praying to whatever force was out there that she'd keep her gob shut about Hermione's…situation.

For a brief moment, the Potions Master's eyes slid away from Trelawney and to Hermione's own. The feeling was like being kicked in the chest, and Hermione glanced down at her meal quickly, stirring her soup with sudden ferocity. She could feel a blush rising to her cheeks and tried to force it away by taking a large gulp of ice water. All it did was freeze her stomach and give her a headache, however, making her feel even more miserable than previously.

There _was _something there. Like it or not, the potion had changed her perceptions of this man. For better or for worse, Hermione could not say. It was a queer feeling, like having her hair parted in an unfamiliar way – a little prickly, a little painful, but at the same time the change was slightly refreshing. Her face grew hot again. She had to talk to Parvati and Lavender. If anyone could tell her what to do about all this, it was them. And, after the little speech she gave them that morning, Hermione was certain her secrets would _stay _secret.

Hermione woke suddenly, sweating, entire body tingling. Stupid, stupid, stupid. One night free of dreams and she had become careless, not taking the potion and subjecting herself to these…sinful images. One hand lay on her stomach, making gentle circles on the fragile skin there, while the other was worked into her hair, the damp locks twining around her grasping fingers. Her eyes locked on the ceiling, fragments of the dream wandering back. She shuddered, the sensation reverberating down to her toes.

The conversation with Lavender and Parvati hadn't helped at all. They had done nothing but squeal girlishly as Hermione revealed that she may be…feeling things for the Professor. She was surprised that, as of yet, they hadn't voiced any disgust at her soul's choice of a mate. It certainly warranted plenty. When she brought this up, they merely shrugged.

"He's really not so bad, Hermione. We've been keeping a close eye on him. Think about it: he's tall – very tall!" Parvati nodded in agreement, adding her own praise.

"He's brainy – you like brainy types. I can just picture the two of you talking all night about something nobody else cares about, like smart things."

"And he's got a voice that stops you in your tracks, and on weekends his hair does look rather dashing."

"There's that whole air of authority – especially now that he's your Master. It's kind of kinky." Parvati grinned, and Hermione wanted to break her own nose for having similar thoughts earlier.

"Besides, he's a man. You don't need a boy, Hermione. You've been an adult since you were seven years old, probably. He'll be a mature partner for you."

Hermione collapsed in a chair, distraught. "Fine! Fine! So he's tall, dark, handsome, mature, intelligent, a perfect match – I get it, already. The potion did show me a good match. But what do I _do _about it? I can't just go up to him and say, 'Congratulations, you're my soul mate! Kiss me!'"

Parvati and Lavender exchanged a look, shrugging. "I don't know," Lavender volunteered. "Bite his ear."

Which had led to more problems, mainly the dreams. Bite his ear. Wonderful suggestion. If that scenario had played out in real life…

Hermione stiffened. She had no idea of knowing if that dream was prophetic or not, being the first time the dream presented itself. Was it an omen, or merely the product of her overactive imagination. A chill went through her _(or was that a thrill?)_ and she quickly threw her covers aside and dashed to the bathroom. Her fingers twisted the taps and splashed cold water on her burning cheeks, banishing all trace of sleep. She checked the time. 1:30 AM, or thereabouts. There was little chance of her falling asleep again. With a sigh, Hermione made her way over to her stack of books. No better time to get a little work done, she supposed. Hermione was already ahead in each of her classes (save Potions – Professor Snape never conceded to giving her work before it was actually assigned in class. She had already read the textbook from cover-to-cover twice, though. No use in letting it go to waste), but there was still work she could do, things she could go over, extra reading she could use. She cracked open her Arithmancy textbook and got out a sheet of parchment, murmuring a quick "_Lumos_" and poising a pen to take notes on facts of interest.

Instead, she ended up trying to calculate exactly which name she should go by to make herself the most compatible with Professor Severus Snape. None of her options were extremely flattering until she came upon the title "Potions Mistress Hermione Jane Granger". In that title she found balance, control, and completion, much to her extreme pleasure. That was the most complete identity she could find, after all, and so was most likely the most accurate picture. Again, when she calculated Severus's full name – _Professor Snape's _full name – the prospect was much brighter than any abbreviated calculation. That settled it, for sure. After her apprenticeship, everything would be sweet as cream.

Sweet as cream. Sweet as cream gone sour, more like. Disgusted with herself, Hermione slammed the book shut and ignited the parchment, watching with morbid fascination as it burned away to nothing but ashes. The rage in her breast burned out as quickly as the parchment, however, leaving her feeling hollow inside. So she had feelings. So they weren't returned. So what? She didn't need romantic fulfillment; it was far too early in her life to be thinking of settling down. This was nothing but spurious knowledge that she shouldn't have tried to possess in the first place.

This was a disaster.

Hermione's gaze went to the precious vial of dreamless sleep potion. If one spoonful lasted ten hours, half a spoonful would last five…she checked the time again. 2:30. Well, it was Sunday, after all – the one day that she did not have extra sessions with the Professor. She could sleep in until seven-thirty with no remorse, spend the day doing…something. Or nothing. She sighed.

A moment later, she was asleep under the full dosage.

A pounding on her door awoke Hermione, who was quite annoyed by the rudeness of it all. She had been quite enjoying herself, stretching luxuriantly in her bed while sunlight trickled in through her window. Hermione blinked and glanced outside, surprised to see that the sun was on its descent towards the horizon. The time read 2:30 yet again, but this time it was in the afternoon hours. No wonder people were trying to wake her. Hermione washed and dressed quickly, calling out a quick "I'm coming!" to whoever was trying to summon her. Her stomach growled loudly, and Hermione didn't blame it. Her human alarm clock would have to endure the necessity of a meal before she got to whatever they wanted. Ready in under two minutes, Hermione opened the door to see the worried faces of Ron and Harry.

"Merlin, Hermione! We thought you died, or were kidnapped or something! It's mid afternoon!" Ron's face was flushed.

"We've been looking all over for you!" Harry admonished. "We checked all the passages and hunted through the library, and even went down to see that git Snape," he exclaimed, provoking an ugly feeling in Hermione's gut, "but he wasn't in and the portraits said you hadn't been about the castle. We knocked on your door earlier today, but you didn't answer."

"Sorry." Hermione winced, guilty. "I haven't been sleeping well, and last night…or, rather, extremely early this morning, I took a sleeping draught. I meant to take only a half dose, but I suppose I overdid it," she lied, not wanting to alarm them further. If they knew she had consciously decided to skive off most of Sunday in bed, they'd have thought her mad. Hermione's calculated response made the worry slide off of their faces, however, which eased her heart some.

"Ah, it's alright, Hermione," Harry assured her, pulling her into a little half-hug. "We were just worried, that's all."

"You must be starved, Hermione! You haven't eaten since dinner, and you didn't eat much at all then. Let's go down to the kitchens and see what we can round up for you." Ron shook his shoulders as if he were a superhero about to take off. Hermione thanked them both graciously, glad she had eased their worry and gladder that they made the effort to take care of her so.

"And after that, I have a favor to ask you. You wouldn't happen to know…"

Hermione sighed inwardly. So much for lack of selfish motives. She really couldn't blame them, but at the same time she wished that they'd do something nice just for the sake of being nice. _Boys will be boys, _she reminded herself.

A darker part of herself twisted the words, echoing, _But men can be men. _Despite the warmth of the day, Hermione shivered.

Severus Snape, Man Apparent, was waiting in his office for his apprentice to arrive Wednesday afternoon, the only day of the week that he _didn't _have a class with Miss Granger. Tension had seized his stomach somewhere around mid-day, a tension he knew was caused by the haloed young witch. Somehow, not seeing her in a normal class setting unnerved him. He didn't quite know what to expect – when Miss Granger was in a classroom setting, he could keep his mind on the fact that she was a student, a child. However, without that preface, Severus was terrified that she'd come into his office, alone, informal, and as a woman.

It wasn't as if he found her attractive, in the conventional sense. She was thin-hipped and flat-chested as a twelve year old boy, with only her soft, open features to betray her actual gender. Her face was structured as a woman's, with subtle cheekbones and a stubborn jaw, but her eyes were far too innocent, her emotions far too apparent to belong to one who had seen even close to as many years as he. It was all the fault of the glamour of the potion that pulled upon him, he knew. Not the fact that she was who she was, but the fact that, sometime in his life, she would be his, and he would be hers – it was inevitable. The promise of unconditional companionship and love - that was what made it so alluring.

And yet it was so forbidden. Severus scowled. Why now? Why did he have to see this now? Why not six years from now, when she was on her last year as his apprentice, when she was of _legal age, _for Salazar's sake, when she was _matured?_ Gods, for her to be forbidden to him was only another temptation he had to resist, and more painful than anything. It had taken him years to resign himself to the fact that he would never know someone to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for as long as they both should live. Two decades had gone by as he conditioned himself, resigned himself to a life of loneliness and stagnation, brief, clumsy encounters devoid of true passion the only outlet for his frustrations. He had given up hope, and now, now when he had grown to accept his life as fact, _now _he was shown the woman – the girl – he should have and hold, _now _the bait was dangled in front of his nose. But he _couldn't _have her _now. _It was a wretched feeling, a twisted irony.

_Now _was quite the worst time, for a myriad of reasons. Her age was the foremost, the largest complication being violation of wizarding law. Second was his obvious lack of attraction – there was very little he could call "alluring" about Miss Granger. Thirdly, and most importantly, was the fact that he felt nothing more than a deep-rooted longing – a longing for companionship rather than the specific young woman in question. He was tormented by the idea of connection rather than any affection or lust he felt for her, was goaded by the effects of a potion rather than a natural bond. It was _wrong._

And yet the knot of tension did not fade. Severus sighed, sliding into a chair, attempting to relax his muscles. It would do him no good to be this tense when she arrived. Future soul mate or not, it would not do to show weakness of any kind. After all, _she _didn't know _any _of it. He dreaded to think of what her reaction would have been if she had been given the potion rather than he. She was obviously not lacking in company, obviously not desperate for a deep connection. Her friends saw to that, not to mention rumors that flew about her and that Bulgarian Quidditch player from fourth year and counting. While not immensely popular, her status and intellect – even as a muggle born – was indication enough that she would undoubtedly be a catch for _someone _later in life. She hadn't given up on true love or a white wedding, and still probably had the tired notion of saving herself for her husband locked into her deepest values.

Well, in that case, as her apparent soul mate, he was sure to be the one to –

Severus stopped the thought before he could go any further. This was most definitely not productive or healthy. Damn Granger for leaving him this much time to think between his last class and her arrival. Damn extra classes, and damn Albus for looking so _cheery _and _delighted _and _trusting_ when he had been informed of Granger's new status as his apprentice. Wasn't the man supposed to be practically omniscient and all that rot? Why hadn't he forbidden this course of action?

A knock on the door heralded the arrival of the bane of his existence. Severus glanced up at the clock. Absolutely Bloody On Time, it read. Molars ground together in irritation, and he took several moments to compose himself before letting her in.

_Merlin help me._

* * *

And now onto my unabridged thank yous! For those who are not concerned with them, thank you for reading and please let me know how I'm doing! No criticism is unwanted, as I want to give only Eggplant and Caviar to my readers.

**VictoriaM2006: **Wish granted with Harry and Ron, though I'm not sure this is how you would have liked them to be presented. I hope you enjoyed the respective tortured thoughts of our two protagonists!

**Duj: **Luckily, Hermione's wearing her nice, dull uniform at the moment. However, if she ever dresses in casual clothes for the apprenticeship sessions, I'll be sure to make her wear day-glo green or something to bring up that exact situation. It's a devious idea, m'dear!

**Vickie211: **Eeh your words make me blush! I'm glad you appreciate Severus's criticisms…they're hard to come up with, since I know Hermione is smart enough to follow directions. If she doesn't make mistakes according to a textbook, it has to be something in her technique or theory, criticisms of which I will undoubtedly run out of soon. It could lead to a nice "here's how you chop it properly, let me show you with my hands on yours, of course this is purely me acting like a teacher, ahem, ahem, gee your hands are soft" sort of session, though, now couldn't it?

**Mahlie: **Severus is already an irresistible character…I don't have to try hard to portray that! XD All jokes aside, I appreciate your flattering review muchly, my dear!

**Ayune: **I love you! Your review brightened my day. I'm really glad this is classified as a "feel-good" fic…my greatest wish is that people walk away from this smiling and feeling that little glow.

**Ciladis:** So happy you like Severus's inclusion in the _Adamare Animae_ situation…I thought it would be hilarious, personally. Sort of like when you like someone, and they like you, and neither of you know it…ironic, frustrating, but from the outside and in retrospect, something you have to laugh at. I'm not sure whether or not they'll find out that the other has taken the potion as well while it's still in effect…it might be something revealed later, when they're more comfortable with each other, or it might be blurted by one, the other, or a third party. Like you said, though, it is a bit harder than just slipping Severus the potion.

**Holly Mariano: **You spoil me, my dearest. I don't even know what to say to your review, except that I am flattered beyond my wildest dreams. I really hope each chapter I post is consistent enough in quality to live up to your expectations. Much love to you!

**Strega-in-progress: **Your reviews delight me every time. I love when you quote something I've written…sometimes it's something I hardly remember writing, and I go back, look at it, and laugh at my own unconscious wit. I'm glad you're enjoying this!

Also much thanks to **Blue52** (you reviewed chapter six right when I posted 7, so I didn't get to thank you in the last chapter's thank you's! Oops! At least you got an almost instant update, eh?) **Natsuyori, Pathatlon, USAFroggi87, Ashes Kittyhawk, rhia, Gwen Drailemac, Joots, RedHeadDoxy, yaukira, and Transylvanian.** Your kind words and enthusiasm, as always, inspire me and spur me to type my little fingers off.


	9. Inebriation

Short Disclaimer: If I owned it, I'd be damned if I didn't have a helicopter by now.

I apologize humbly for the delay in posting! Can you ever forgive me? Writer's block compounded with a relapse of bronchitis has not been kind to me. I do think it is worth it, though…I really like how this chapter came out – it took me a while to get started, but tonight I got on a roll and it just kept getting better.

Replies to your reviews are at the bottom again. I love you all, and enjoy the fireworks!

Special reviewer thanks: **Ciladis**: Can you forgive me? Thank you for being such a faithful reviewer, and so sorry for missing your name!

* * *

Discomfort is said to fade with time and in confronting the cause. However, after a week of marinating himself in her presence, Severus still felt as if he were wearing a proverbial hair shirt. What penance was this? Hadn't he done enough already in his life, what with constant subjection to Lord Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy and all those sort of types, with Neville Longbottom plaguing his class for six years, with the obligation of the damnable Harry Potter still on his 'to do' list? Every moment of her tortuous presence made him itch all over, nerves firing and heart sending abrasive ichor through his veins.

Uncomfortable as it was, though, he was starting to enjoy it.

Outside observers noticed a new vitality about him, a wit even sharper than before, a taut grace in his movements. He held extra insults in his breast pocket for those that commented upon this, but in all possessed a more tolerant humor towards his colleagues, and his scathing words aimed at his students held more wit than acid, occasionally provoking several 'coughing fits' quickly smothered in the back of his classes. With Miss Granger, however, there was mutual banter, an exchange of words that made the tension grow hot and then cold in his abdomen, holding his breath between every comment he made and every response she shot back, letting it out in a silent rush when her words delighted and surprised him with their shrewdness and sophistication. Truly, she was a force to be reckoned with, and a good match for his mind. Affection, then, was not far off. Toleration of his burden, on the other hand…

Ignoble. Illegal. Enticing. Entirely too far from the pure meeting of souls that had been foretold by the potion. This feeling he had was closer to lust, though it was a lust of the psyche rather than the body, a lust he was more likely to bear towards his art than a woman. The practice of courtly love came to mind – admiration from afar, a place upon a pedestal, and yet no physical contact. It was a platonic sort of love in its ideal form, and Severus nearly smiled at the idea of his relationship with Miss Granger growing, at least on his side, into platonic, courtly lust.

Here he waited, yet again, cataloguing his stores in a vain attempt to keep his mind off her impending arrival. Distraction was the only weapon he had on his side, and even then it was hardly effective. For a man such as Severus, whose mind operated on several different functions simultaneously at any given time, merely cataloguing how much asphodel or lacewings were in each little jar could not possibly shove every thought of the bright little witch out of his mind. Certainly not, when five out of seven thoughts running through his head at any given time were focused on her. He sighed, distaste for divination in all forms evident on his face and in his gut, including forms linked to other, more respectable fields such as Arithmancy and Potions. _The creator of the _Adamare Animae_ should, if not already dead, be imprisoned in Azkaban until the Götterdämmerung._

And _there _was the violating sensation of his wards breaching. Severus counted to twenty-five, shoulders tensed, anticipating the knock. There it was, and like clockwork he stood and paused for one, two, three, four, five…

"Miss Granger. Every time I open this door you are gawping like a fish. Do close your mouth and proceed in finishing the potion before we lose valuable oxygen." Severus sneered down at the girl, who promptly shut her mouth with a defiant snort and stalked over to her workstation, muttering something under her breath.

"I do not believe I am any sort of blood-sucking parasite, nor am I hard of hearing. If you please," he murmured, going to his own workstation. Madame Pomfrey had requested a batch of burn salve, due to the remarkable amount of salamander activity of late. Severus suspected that Hagrid had been up to his usual mischief, but as he had no proof resigned himself to correcting the loathsome man's mistakes. One of these days…

Severus became aware that Granger was mincing ingredients with twice the force necessary. While not _wrong, _per say, it was quite distracting. He wondered fleetingly if she was reacting to his choice of greeting, but quickly dismissed the notion. He had done worse on many days, and more frequently as well. Whatever was spurring Granger to furious mincing had originated outside of the dungeons. As had become his habit of late, Severus pondered what possible impetus there had been for her current attitude. He hadn't returned any essays lately, so it most likely wasn't grades. Severus would have heard loud cries of indignation from the other teachers if her scores in the other classes were falling due to the amount of time she spent on the apprenticeship. He knew she hadn't encountered Malfoy or any of his cronies on the way; aware of the dangers his less cunning students presented to the muggle born witch spurred him to make several deals with the portraits in order to have a network of spies around the castle. If there had been any trouble, he would have heard of it within seconds. Portraits adored intrigue. That really only left so-called friendly fire – the Wonder Twins must have put their feet in their mouths, or spurned her in some callous fashion. Females, he knew, were notorious for holding grudges against a careless faux pas.

"Please, Miss Granger," he began, adding a pinch of mint to his cauldron, "don't punish the cutting board, there's a good girl."

The irate chopping halted for a moment, and then Granger resumed her task at a deliberate, more moderate tone, though Severus caught the subtle scent of stinging resentment wafting his way. At least it was quieter, even if the atmosphere was slightly oppressive. Severus managed to immerse himself in his work, bringing the burn salve to a simmer and adding aloe, the pungent herb's calming properties settling their influence over the two laborers. A pleasant, comfortable silence ensued, broken only by the clatter and rasp of tools and the percolation of their respective cauldrons. Severus felt himself relax, letting his guard down and slipping into a euphoric state of complete absorption in his work. He looked up to select a vintage of crushed holly, an innocuous action, but nonetheless one that brought forth serious repercussions.

Severus nearly dropped the jar he was holding as he caught sight of Granger's aura. Usually vibrant as wildfire, it now took on the appearance of a sputtering candle, sickly, inconsistent, and dull. As she added the finishing touches to her potion and examined the result, the aura perked up momentarily, but as soon as the small joy of completion faded, it sunk down to deeper depths than before, the usually cheery (yet sickening) pink now taking on the color of rose ashes. Severus quickly schooled his expression as she turned to inform him of her finished potion, but the unfamiliar feeling of worry still writhed in the pit of his stomach. He walked over, bending to inspect her work, while his apprentice hovered morosely at his side. Severus quickly assessed the accuracy of the potion and opened his mouth to point out the flaws, but temptation took over his powers of speech.

"Miss Granger?"

She looked up at him like a hind in the headlights, as if expecting a barrage of insults.

"Is there something troubling you?"

Those words had more effect than a slap to the face, and he watched her visibly crumble. Her posture deflated, her eyes sparked with tears, her fingers gripped the side of the desk until her knuckles went white. However, against all odds a brave little smile crossed her lips, knifing Severus's heart in the most peculiar fashion.

"It's nothing. Only it's my birthday, and I guess they forgot. I mean, I probably shouldn't blame them…I forgot, too, until only this morning."

There was no clarification of who "they" were. Severus assumed, then, that "they" was everyone who _should_ have remembered. The explained the horribly empty, lonesome look on her face.

"And which birthday should they be celebrating, Miss Granger?" It was the only thing he could think to say.

"Eighteen." The look of gratitude she bestowed upon him made his stomach twist into an intricate knot, throat going dry and useless. _Eighteen._ The word was a brightly painted lure, the sticky honeydew lining the inside of a Venus Flytrap. With that one admission, half of his excuse to deny the plausibility of a liaison with the young woman was eliminated, as the floor beneath him seemed to have been. _Child no longer, _a traitorous voice whispered. _Child no more. _He hadn't known she was so close to adulthood, yet it made more sense than he could say. September first was September first – Granger's birthday was days too late for her to attend Hogwarts the year she turned eleven. It was fitting, however. The age gap explained why she was far more mature than others in her year, why she had known so much more than the other students when she had arrived. An enterprising young witch as herself had most likely sent off for as much information on the wizarding world as possible the very day she had gotten her letter, and had enjoyed almost a year of research before arriving at school.

Logical as it was, the admission from Miss Granger proved a dastardly complication for the Potions Master. _Eighteen. Ignoble, but not illegal. Still enticing. _A tense moment passed between them before he regained his tongue.

"An important date, Miss Granger. May I be the first to welcome you to the adult world, then? It is not such a gilded place as the realm of childhood, but you will find it gives you much more freedom in your actions." _Freedom. _He barely repressed a shiver.

The speech was terse and mundane, and yet Granger seemed to take a small comfort in it. Her shoulders squared, her face lost its red, tearful hue. "Thank you, Professor," she murmured, ducking her head in what was a cross between a nod of gratitude and a respectful bow. Severus returned the action, not quite knowing what he was doing, and then turned to his desk.

"You may leave, Miss Granger. Your work today was nearly impeccable, aside from the speed with which you concocted it, the contaminant of a small bit of lime – the deposit, not the fruit – that you neglected to wipe from your knife, and I fear you still need to hone your cutlery skills. I shall see you tomorrow afternoon."

"Thank you, Professor," she said again, a small smirk on her face revealing that she had seen through his words and detected his attempt to soften his criticism. _How transparent you are becoming, _Severus berated himself, watching her gather her things and exit the room quickly.

As soon as she was gone, Severus collapsed in his chair, elbows slamming on desk and hands massaging his forehead. _Gods. _He couldn't think, couldn't rationalize. It wasn't time! There was no way that he could give in to the _Adamare Animae, _and yet he couldn't for the life of him remember why. _Body of a child, _he cried, and yet a darker portion of him replied, _A supple and fit young woman. Maturity of a child, _he raged, but the response came, _Maturity always of an adult. _The lure of the potion, of companionship, polluted his thoughts. But it was _wrong, _not for any reason, but just for the fact that it was. A cold hand gripped his heart. Even if it wasn't wrong, it was still impossible. He could not make any move towards the young witch. The potion had contaminated his mind, had distorted his sense of reality. She would have to take the first step – then, and only then, could he be sure that it was destiny and not illegitimately obtained knowledge that was seeking their bonding. _However did I get myself into this mess? _He lamented. Trelawney had done it, he knew, but Trelawney hadn't hexed his mind to find _agreeable _bits in the situation. That had been his own doing, Severus realized. Or, rather, his _undoing. _

And, as if his day hadn't given him enough toil, a faint burning sensation began to throb on his left forearm.

_Damn._

* * *

Hermione, on the other hand, left the dungeons with a much lighter heart than she had entered them. She was happy, no, _giddy_ at the concern that her Potions Master _(yes, yes, _her _Potions Master, now…no one else could claim that)_ had shown her, despite the dark mood that had lingered since breakfast due to the fact that no one had remembered the most important birthday of her life. She was sure her parents were busy, and, since she was out of sight and out of mind at Hogwarts, they would probably send a package of apologies and birthday treats in a couple of days. Harry and Ron…they were boys. She'd drop a hint sometime soon and they'd fall over themselves with apologies. Besides, the balm of someone _noticing, asking, _and _comforting _her, and that someone being inevitably _hers_ at some point in time…

It didn't really matter if his nose was reminiscent of a vulture's beak.

_Right! Enough on that train of thought,_ Hermione scolded herself. It was high time for a trip to the library. She had an itching to find out just what coming-of-age meant in a wizarding society. Come to think of it, she really didn't know what coming-of-age meant in muggle society. She pursed her lips. Considering the fact that she had planned on joining the wizarding world full-time after graduation, since that was where her education lay, Hermione decided to tackle the Hogwarts library first. She could send off to her parents for legal books later; that would serve as a way to point out their error without being overly rude as well. Hermione sighed. Regarding graduation, she was almost frightened as to what that would bring. She _couldn't _return to the muggle world, being so out of touch with its society and education, but she wasn't sure she wanted to leave it completely behind, either. Hermione supposed she'd visit her family on holidays, as she already did now, but the thought of _living _in the wizarding world, purchasing a house in it and becoming completely absorbed into its culture was overwhelming. She didn't even know how to go about making living arrangements, or even which parts of the world were open to wizard settlement. She had been to the Burrow, yes, and to Grimmauld Place, but she hadn't the faintest idea of where they were actually _located, _and the only wizarding town she knew of was Hogsmeade. Hermione had never given it much thought before, but now that graduation was approaching it was constantly on her mind. And how would her apprenticeship fit in? She frowned. Perhaps she wouldn't have to worry about other wizarding villages – Hogsmeade was near enough to facilitate the apprenticeship, and was familiar enough to make her comfortable. However, she wouldn't live there forever. Hermione shrugged. She was sure the library would have resources for just this situation, and, if not, she could always ask Ron or Professor McGonagall.

The library doors came into sight, and Hermione smiled in anticipation. She adored every inch of it. However, just as she was reaching for the handle, the jovial tones of Headmaster Dumbledore rang out behind her.

"Ah! Miss Granger! I knew I'd find you hereabouts. Congratulations on your eighteenth birthday!"

Hermione turned around, smiling. "Thank you, Headmaster."

"Congratulations also on your apprenticeship. I cannot tell you how proud I am. Severus swore north and south that he would never take a student on as his apprentice, you know. That says volumes about your abilities." Hermione blushed, but the Headmaster continued. "I am also glad for a purely selfish reason – it would have been hard to let such a brilliant mind as yours go, but this way I have seven more delightful years of your presence."

Hermione was puzzled, but supposed he meant that she would be coming to the castle daily to see Snape and therefore he'd have the opportunity to speak with her just as often. "Yes, I suppose I will be stopping by very often…I'm planning on renting a cottage in Hogsmeade, since I won't be able to apparate directly to the castle…"

"Goodness, Miss Granger! You didn't think we'd make you seek residence elsewhere, did you? There are many spare rooms in this castle…surely it would be more convenient for you to be living in the place you were working? It is usually customary for the apprentice to live in close proximity to the Master, in any case. Besides," he added, eyes glittering mischievously, "if you lived in Hogsmeade, it would be entirely too easy on Severus. I think you are doing a bit of good for him – he needs a challenge."

Hermione couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't compromise her current position, so elected for a simple nod of the head. She saw the Headmaster's eyes darken momentarily.

"On the subject of Severus, I'm afraid he has asked me to tell you that your meetings must be postponed momentarily while he sorts out a spot of trouble. I'm sure you know what I mean, Miss Granger," he said meaningfully. Hermione nodded again, ice shooting through the pit of her stomach.

Voldemort.

Dumbledore patted her on the back briefly, excusing himself with a few final words of congratulations and a handshake that turned out to be full of assorted sweets that Hermione discreetly dropped in a rubbish bin as soon as she entered the library. Glad to be in the cool, familiar darkness, Hermione headed straight for the comfort of the books, looking for one that would distract her from the worry that overloaded her senses.

Sense, now there was an inappropriate term. This much worry didn't make much sense at all. She had known about his summonings for years, had registered his absence at the Head Table and had not given it much thought except, _I hope he's successful and doesn't give himself away._ Now the same thought was on her mind, but backed up with a surprising intensity of feeling.

Filters of perception. She had never felt such a personal claim to him before. It made sense that , now that she was his apprentice and (she groaned, earning her a glare from Madame Pince) destined soulmate, she'd want him to return to avoid causing harm to her own life.

_Oh, hell._

* * *

Happy brain death was on Severus's wishlist as he trudged up the path to Hogwarts Castle, sliver of moon paradoxically upturned in a cheery grin. After meetings with the deranged Tom Riddle and smirking Lucius, all he really wanted to do was curl up on a soft chair by a warm fire and drink himself into oblivion. Disregard all that he had vowed, after his drinking stint concerning Miss Granger, not to touch a drop of alcohol until the holidays; he needed a few hours to _not think._

Not think about Voldemort _or _Miss Granger.

Mostly not think about Miss Granger.

Voldemort was really just an excuse…_damn and blast._

The meeting had really only concerned Miss Granger, thanks to the horrible Malfoy pair. Malfoy Junior had run to Malfoy Senior to complain about his position as Potions apprentice being given to a filthy mudblood, and likewise Malfoy Senior had run to Voldemort and tried to undermine the Dark Lord's confidence in the man that had snubbed his son. Really, it was a juvenile attempt, and Severus only had to allude to the fortunate-and-entertaining prospect that Granger would be aiding him in brewing potions for dark purposes.

"The Granger girl is quite adept as I'm sure you've heard, much more apt at potions-making than young Malfoy, my Lord. As I had protested to the Old Fool time and time again that no student had the aptitude to make me consider an apprentice, it would have been suspicious if I had allowed Malfoy the position. Instead of suspicion, now the Old Fool is happy and deluded that I am at last showing some courtesy to another house. In the meantime, the ever-trusting and naïve student shall be helping me betray her best friends and everything that she stands for. It may even be possible, over a period of years, to corrupt her mind subtly and sufficiently to turn her to the Dark Arts. I thought the irony would both serve your purposes and amuse you, my Lord. If I am wrong, I humbly submit myself to whatever punishment Your Worship pleases."

Fortunately, Your Worship had been pleased to punish Lucius instead for the waste of both his and Severus's time. It had been most entertaining.

Unfortunately, the thought of corrupting Miss Granger had been even more entertaining, to the point of needing a cold shower and a bottle or two of Ogden's to wipe it from his memory.

Hours later, said shower and whiskey had the delightful effect of wrapping his brain in a cheerful pink security blanket. The fire crackled in front of him, bringing to life the amber depths of the liquid in his glass. Severus contemplated it contentedly, rolling the flavor around on his tongue and reveling in the feel of the soft velvet of the chair on his naked skin. Severus liked being naked – it made him feel innocent and fresh, like Adam in the Garden of Eden. Clothes indicated he had something to hide, to be ashamed of, and it was true that he wore many layers on a daily basis to, metaphorically and physically, hide himself from his students and peers. The robes and capes were a physical reminder that he must remain reserved, true self and motives concealed behind a veneer of contempt and stern control.

Here, however, he could be naked in flesh and manner. There was no one to spy on him here – not Voldemort, not Dumbledore, not his students nor the other teachers. Privacy – ah, that was the luxury of luxuries. A smile crossed his lips, glowing in the firelight, and he crossed one bare ankle over the other, the way the flames illuminated his muscles most pleasing to the eye. Severus was a sensual creature by nature and inclination. It was a common trait of Potions Masters, whose senses of smell, touch, and taste as well as sight had to be most developed to detect the subtleties of the art. Such sensitivity extended to other areas of life – the sumptuous décor of his inner chambers were lush in color and texture, all rich jewel tones, dark woods, silks, satins, and velvets; the food he ate was always high quality; when he wasn't trying to drink himself into a stupor, Severus enjoyed fine wines and aged liquors. In his rooms, naked, enjoying a glass of whiskey and the luxuriant surroundings, Severus was thoroughly and completely happy.

Finishing up his glass, Severus stood on tremulous limbs and weaved his way into the bathroom. He ran a soft washcloth under the hot water before applying it to his face, dabbing off the perspiration and then following to his neck and chest, reveling in the feel of the chill air against damp skin. He folded the cloth neatly and placed it by the side of the sink, glancing into the mirror. The faint smile still lingered, and Severus found the sight quite pleasing. He could be a handsome old devil at times, he conceded. Something caught his notice, however – something disturbingly familiar. Leaning in to get a better look, he studied his reflection with drunken-but-still-careful precision. There was something in his eyes. On closer inspection, he realized that pink flames were dancing in his pupils, flames the color of Miss Granger's aura. Severus grit his teeth. He had gone this far into the evening _(morning, probably)_ without thinking of her. Couldn't he go a bit longer? The scientist in him puzzled over the sight, however. The _Adamare Animae _was rumored to have this side effect on the drinker – something about the flames _(flamma amor, he remembered)_ being the screen with which it was possible to view one's beloved. It was the only sign that the drinker was under the influence of the potion…

Severus's knuckles went white as his face as he gripped onto the edge of the sink. Oh, he was a prime fool.

There had been something in Miss Granger's eyes that day he had assigned the Dreamless Sleep potion – something that had disturbed him slightly, but not enough for him to contemplate the meaning. A pink spark had danced in her defiant glare, a spark not unlike the one in his own eyes.

Oh _gods._ The dread washed over him, sobering him instantly. Miss Granger _knew. _

Miss Granger was likewise a victim of the _Adamare Animae._

* * *

And now onto my unabridged thank yous! For those who are not concerned with them, thank you for reading and please let me know how I'm doing! No criticism is unwanted, as I want to give only Eggplant and Caviar to my readers.

Gwenevere Drailemac: I'm delighted you noticed!

VictoryM2006: Believe me – they'll get to know each other alright.

Magicalwonder: I adored your review! Very thorough and very flattering, m'dear!

LauraNotLora: as always, your reviews delight and entertain me. I always know where I stand with you!

Duj: Amen is all I can say

Holly Mariano: I think you'll be satisfied by the way I intend to treat that specific situation…I hate "suddenly noticing" Hermione's "womanly curves"…blech. Classic beauty and curves are for magazines…endearing flaws are for life -.

Vickie211: The "bite his ear" bit was inspired by my entirely too logical friend's love advice. I was torn between three very good (and attractive) male friends, and she told me to, methodically enough, bite their ears and judge their reactions, then go for the one that seemed the most interested. I just had to use that pearl of non-wisdom for Hermione's situation. (Note: to this day I have never bitten an ear, and don't intend to) As for your suggestion about the breaks, when I look at the screen I can see them…one space between paragraphs, two between changes of scene. Perhaps it doesn't show up for you?

Cake101: Glad to gag you in that way, I suppose! I'm trying to find ways of having Hermione and Severus influence each other in small ways…that was my first step for Hermione, but for Severus I'm not sure…suggestions? As for the biting of the ear, see above story in my reply to Vickie211. Glad you enjoyed!

Ayune: I'm looking forward to wherever I'm taking this, too. Happy to receive your spectacular

Strega-in-progress: You and Shakespeare, huh? I'll say that's a flattering comparison. I have to say I enjoyed writing the "like smart things" bit…I adore writing for Parvati and Lavender…they're not just bubbleheads, they're _my _bubbleheads 3 (depending on the font, that may or may not look like a heart -.) Sorry I took so long to update!

MagicAlianne: Oh my goodness, your review absolutely made my day! And just in time, too…it caught me on an inspirational high and propelled me to finish up this chapter. Thank you, thank you, thank you! On a more personal note, secret relationships what? I can relate to that.

Thanks also to Natsuyori, Joots, Ashes Kittyhawk, and Transylvanian! You continue to inspire me!

And, for those who joked about an update on that little love life of mine, I have since a) kissed him again b) swordfought him and c) still don't know where all this is going. Yay for strange love. That's part of the fun, though.

Speaking of strange love, don't leave me hanging! Let me know how I'm doing on this Lolita-esque pair! You know what that means – it means I'm shamelessly plugging for the bread and water of the writer – reviews!

Much love from Eggplant and Caviar


	10. Inquiries

Short Disclaimer: If I owned it, it wouldn't be called "Harry Potter".

My. Goodness. Gracious. I have never seen so many reviews in my inbox in one sitting. You guys are so amazing, I don't even know where to start. I'd like to dedicate this chapter to the gorgeous beyond gorgeous Imhilien, whose recommendation on WIKTT has led the way for many readers to find my story. Another more personal thank-you is at the bottom, my lovely, along with thanks for all my reviewers. I'll try my hardest not to miss any this time (and here I am winking at Ciladis).

You are all so beautiful to me.

Ps: I have been informed that wizarding "of age" is 17. I looked into this at the beginning, and there appears to be a bit of a debate over this. However, Hermione is 18 at the beginning of her final year, and apparently the age for drinking is also 18 in the UK, not to mention I'm writing this in America, where 18 is age of consent, and I don't want to know what will happen if I write underage scenes. In any case, thank you for your concern…just consider this an artistic liberty

* * *

He wasn't at the Head Table when Hermione entered the Great Hall, sending her spiraling down the path of worry once more. She had tossed and turned half the night, not even slipping into the constant, sensual flow of dreams she had become accustomed to. Hermione wondered if she'd miss them when they were gone – or if they'd ever leave her. Her research had indicated that they wouldn't – at least until she didn't need them as a substitute for the real thing. The thought sent a hot blush to her cheeks that momentarily dispelled the ugly feeling in her stomach, at least until she remembered that the relationship she imagined wouldn't be possible if the man was killed. Guilt descended, and she could hardly do more than pick out her breakfast, each bite weighing heavily in her stomach like a lead grenade, and she couldn't tell whether or not the pin was pulled. 

The funny thing was, she didn't really know or like the man.

All the stupid potion, or rather, the dreams. Every bit of this 'relationship' was imaginary, immaterial, and immature. She was incredibly disappointed in herself, but a bit of her conceded that anyone was liable to act in the same way, when everything but the identity of the person pointed the way to romantic bliss. It was almost like being delusional, Hermione realized. It was all good sense in your own head, but if you ever voiced what you were thinking, everyone would think you nuts. There was no hard evidence, nothing that she could prove. It wasn't the sort of situation that she was used to dealing with at all, and Hermione was surprised when she took a step back from herself and realized just how well she was adjusting to the change from logic to intuition.

"Hermione, what's the matter with you this morning? You haven't eaten more than three bites," Ron chided softly, elbowing her. "Are you not sleeping again? I came in from duty last night and you were asleep on a book, and I _know _you weren't pulling an all-nighter for a class – you were reading 'Hogwarts: A History'. You only read that when you're upset or Harry pulls out some random bit of evidence from a crime scene." His worried eyes searched hers for some sign of what was the matter. "Is it about the birthday thing again? Do you want Harry and me to grovel some more?"

Hermione laughed wryly. The boys had practically jumped on her in the common room with apologies and condolences and chocolate when they realized their mistake, as she knew they would. Word from her parents still hadn't arrived, but the growing detatchment she was feeling in regards to her family made it not matter so much as Harry or Ron forgetting. "No, Ron, don't worry, it isn't you." She looked around surreptitiously to make sure no one was listening and then leaned over to whisper, "I'm just a little worried about Professor Snape. Dumbledore said he was summoned last night, and…" she paused, guilt in her gut once more, "…I think it has something to do with my getting the apprenticeship and Malfoy being denied. He gave me the most awful smug look yesterday when I was on my way to the dungeons." She leaned back, face a little pale.

"Ah, don't worry about the git, Hermione," Ron murmured. "You know he can take care of himself, and besides, if he didn't have a plan for what he was going to say about it, he wouldn't have done it."

Hermione looked up at Ron with grateful eyes and pulled him into a quiet but emphatic hug. When had he learned how to say just the right thing at the right time? "Thank you, Ron," she replied softly, complete with weak and watery smile.

"Still don't know why you care if he gets an Unforgivable or two, though, besides academic reasons."

Hermione glared and slapped him on the chest, temper dispelling tears momentarily. Ron was saved from a scolding, however, as the owl post arrived and dropped several letters on the Gryffindor table. One was for Ron from his brother Charlie, along with a package from his mum, and the other Gryffindors received one or two each, but Hermione saw nothing from her own parents. She sighed, but a late owl swooped over and dropped a small envelope in her lap, perking up her attitude instantly. Eagerly, Hermione flipped it over to look at the return address, and, though she was puzzled at first when she didn't see her mother's familiar handwriting, her heart lifted considerably to see Snape's serpentine scrawl. Wondering what the occasion was, she opened the letter and read it, curious. There were only a couple of words.

_See me immediately after breakfast._

_-S.S._

Furrowing her brows, she flipped the note over to the back to see if there was anything else. What on earth did he wish to speak with her about so urgently? Worry fled back to its usual residence as she wondered if he had to terminate the apprenticeship due to threat of Voldemort. Queasy and overly anxious, she pushed back her plate, muttering her excuses, and fled the Hall as fast as appropriate. She cursed the fact the dungeons were so far away – no wonder the man never came to breakfast! He'd have to leave his rooms at least twenty minutes early, and she was sure that after a long day of making sure potions didn't explode he would be loath to give up any sleep.

* * *

Panting, she finally reached Snape's dungeon residence, letter tucked into her sweater pocket. She knocked once, got impatient, and nearly knocked again before she remembered Snape's propensity to open the door at the exact wrong moment, most likely intentionally. She was correct, but didn't have the time nor the inclination to gloat about it as his boding form appeared in the doorway. 

"Miss Granger. Please, come inside."

The 'please' got her. Professor Snape never used the word. Worry, terror, and more anxiety than she thought possible absolutely throttled her heart with their cold and knotty hands. Hermione gulped and stepped in, the tall professor shutting the door behind her.

"Take a seat." No please there. The situation couldn't be dire, then. Or perhaps he was too focused on other things to be polite. Or perhaps he didn't want to repeat himself. This was stupid. Hermione sat. Snape sat across from her, the desk forming a barrier between them.

"Sir, can you please cut to the chase? I'm on pins and needles, frankly. Is it about the apprenticeship?" Hermione ventured, not willing to wait any longer. She knew enough of the Potions Master to see that they could stare at each other all day, neither giving anything away. Snape looked startled.

"No, of course not. If I had thought Voldemort would protest it and I wouldn't be able to defend it, I wouldn't have initiated it in the first place. I convinced him that it would be quite amusing for one of the Golden Trio to be brewing Dark Potions under a Death Eater, and suggested that I could turn you without your knowledge to our side."

Hermione nodded, feeling a surge of respect for Professor Snape. She would have given sacks of Galleons to see him sway Voldemort's mind so.

"The reason I summoned you is on a far different tangent," Snape went on, becoming grave, his hands fidgeting with themselves. Hermione marveled at this display of discomfort. She had never seen him nervous before. Her chest tightened again. Whatever it was, it was serious. "What do you know of the _Adamare Animae _potion, Miss Granger?"

Alarm bells went off in Hermione's head, and she could not control the flare of her eyes or the look of horror that she was sure flashed across her face. _Oh God, oh God, oh God! _Hermione's heart felt as if were going to explode and her mouth went dry. How had he found out? How had he known? A blush flooded her cheeks and she tried to stammer out a response, but Professor Snape stopped her. Hermione chanced a look at him and was surprised to see a similar blush highlighting his own cheekbones. Curiosity hovered on the edge of her shame before he spoke again.

"It would not be fair to you if I didn't admit that I was victim of the same ploy, Miss Granger. For every true prediction, Trelawney throws out a million false ones. However, once in a while her insights compel her to do rash things. You cannot blame yourself, nor can I blame myself, but this is something that must be dealt with. Tell me, Miss Granger, and tell me truthfully: who is it that the potion illuminates?"

Hermione was tempted beyond temptation to lie, and lie hard, but something in the desperation of his voice compelled her not to. After all, soulmates were mutual, weren't they? And he had said he was 'victim to the same ploy'…_Trelawney? Oh _Merlin._ Trelawney must have gotten hold of some of the potion from Parvati or Lavender and slipped it in Professor Snape's tea! _She was startled at the realization, and a new blush buoyed up from her neck as she realized why he had looked so stricken and Trelawney so amused that day in the Great Hall. If she lied, he'd know, or be under the impression that his soulmate was untrue…a swell of pity washed into her heart as she comprehended the source of his desperation. This man thought it impossible that she would share the same vision.

"Pink doesn't suit you, Sir," Hermione managed quietly, ducking her head. There was a tense silence, and then the soft exhalation of a long-held breath. She didn't look up, feeling tears pricking at her eyes as she wondered how he'd brush her off. Instead of harsh words, however, she heard the clink of glassware.

"I'm sure you'd appreciate a drink as much as I would." The velvet tones took her a while to register, but when she glanced up she saw he was pouring them both a glass of deep red wine. "I apologize, but I used the stronger liquor up after last night's meeting." He slid a glass to her side of the desk, which she accepted with quiet thanks. The liquid was sweet and cool on her mouth, tingling down her throat. Neither of them spoke until their glasses were half-empty.

"It shouldn't have happened this way. It's not the proper time to have this knowledge. That, Miss Granger, I'm afraid, is the drawback to Potions. Nothing comes without a cost, and you'd do well to remember it," Snape suggested, not unkindly.

Hermione nodded slowly. "I view it that way as well. I've been trying to cope with knowing this rationally, but the problem is that the whole thing is decidedly _irrational._" A question, one that she knew had to be asked, bubbled up to her lips, perhaps the influence of the wine. "Sir? What are we going to do about this? I mean…it's not as if its possible to ignore."

He was silent for a moment, and Hermione felt a rising sensation of dread that he _would _want to ignore it, that he'd terminate the apprenticeship and run off to Siberia like the hounds of hell were after him. However, an answer came.

"Well, I suppose we start by referring to each other by our first names, at least in private. This 'Miss Granger' and 'Sir' business is reminiscent of the fantasy of a man with a superiority complex."

The comment was so absurd and unexpected that Hermione nearly choked on her wine, coughing with surprised laughter. Snape looked startled at first, but then the corner of his mouth twitched up in a barely perceivable smile when he realized she was laughing. A queer feeling tickled her heart as she saw the smile, and she relaxed a bit in her chair, taking another sip of the wine to soothe her throat.

"You're right, I suppose. I think the trickiest part is that I hardly know you, nor you me, and yet we both have become aware that, somewhere down the line, we're supposed to have some sort of meaningful relationship. This is awkward…I'm sorry."

It was Snape's – no, Severus's – turn to be surprised. "There is nothing wrong with discussing this as two adults. I must confess my relief that it wasn't Lavender Brown who was illuminated."

"But if it was _that _impossible a match, you wouldn't be soulmates – oh!" Hermione flushed again, the term really hitting her for the first time. She felt her heart thump painfully as she shared a glance with Severus, both realizing the implications of her words. Desperate to break the gaze, Hermione rushed into the next part of her sentence, feeling distinctly guilty. "I'm sorry, though, because it's my fault this happened, anyway." Ignoring the puzzled look she got, Hermione launched into a brisk but thorough account of the last few weeks, each admission and motive making Severus's eyes grow increasingly wider, until finally she fell silent and they both stared at nothing but their own now-empty glasses.

Severus sighed. "Well, that does change things."

"How Sir – er, Severus?" The name was unfamiliar on her tongue. Severus leaned forward and filled up her glass.

"For one, it means you deserve the larger share of alcohol. For another," he added, moving to his own glass, "it means that our opening statements ring false. I don't pretend to like or even respect divination, as I'm sure you can relate, but, like it or not, it is a valid form of magic. Perhaps this is the intended time, if the prophetic dreams were hounding you so. However, we are obviously not well enough acquainted for any sort of relationship. Therefore, my opinion is that we should go along as we would with our everyday lives, see where the relationship of apprentice and master takes us, and above all follow our…feelings." 'Feelings' didn't seem to be high on Severus's list of priorities. They weren't on Hermione's either, and yet she felt a slight thrill at the thought. Disguise it with academic words or lay it out in sugared terms, the situation was thus: something would build, and they both knew it. The question was when.

"I agree with the suggestion. I'm so glad it wasn't Ron. I mean, it's wonderful to be able to talk about this frankly and come to a rational decision, rather than being jumped in the hallway." Goodness, was that the wine talking? It had to be. Hermione finished off her second glass and was not surprised or displeased when Severus poured her a third.

"And I am glad that this was not revealed until you were legally an adult, or I may feel remorse at providing alcohol to a minor in such amounts." There was that small hint of a smile again. Hermione was sure that his wine was talking, too. An absurd idea popped into her head.

"My favorite color is green. What's yours?"

Severus looked surprised. "Green?"

Hermione nodded. "Before I knew the reputation, I had an urge to be in Slytherin house because I've adored green since I was a child and I rather like snakes."

The man across the desk looked as if he were filing this away in some memory bank. "I am quite partial to orange and maroon, myself. Maroon on the side of purple, however, not red." Severus looked thoughtful for a moment, and then returned, "While I do like snakes, my favorite animal is nonetheless the panther."

Hermione smiled. "I like bats best."

Severus laughed, and the sound was just startling enough to goad Hermione into laughter as well, air becoming clearer, atmosphere warming. Their conversation continued down the line of likes and dislikes until they were on their second bottle and waxing philosophical over the most mundane of subjects. Hermione found that she was enjoying herself immensely, and Severus appeared to be sharing the sentiment. They had moved to his inner chambers for more comfortable seating, and Hermione found herself sprawled on a thick, luxurious rug while the man formerly known as Professor Snape reclined on a plush ottoman. They were deep in a discussion of the impossibility of choosing a favorite artist when Severus paused, mid-sentence, staring intensely into the flames of the fire. Concerned, Hermione leaned forward and put a tentative hand on his arm. "Si – Severus?" she asked. There was no response, but the quiet man turned to meet her eyes, his own narrowed in an almost shrewd manner, had it not been for the nervous tension arresting the rest of his form.

"Hermione." It was the first time that he had used her name, and the harmonics in the room with the current mood made gooseflesh appear on her arms and neck. He straightened. "Correct me if I err, but the proper way to validate a hypothesis is through experimentation and careful cataloguing of results, is it not?"

The look he gave her made her throat go dry despite the wine she had consumed. "That is correct. I mean…yes."

He nodded slightly. "Then, if you wish, would you like to join me in an experiment?"

Heart pounding and head spinning from the wine and the connotations, Hermione could only nod.

"Well then," Severus began, setting down his wine glass and sliding to the floor, beckoning to Hermione. "Come here."

Hermione was powerless to obey, curiosity and wine and the knowledge that they both knew, _knew _that it was something that had to happen somewhere down the line. She scooted closer, his arm taking her shoulder and pulling her in gently, a mutual movement, air tense and thick as if they were moving in slow motion. His head tilted slightly and their lips met tentatively, _experimentally, _soft pressure of flesh against flesh striking them each in subtly different manners. Another kiss, slightly deeper this time, and their positions shifted ever so slightly so that they fit together more easily. A third, and Hermione let out a shuddery sigh, drawing Severus's latent arm up around her waist, a comfortingly warm weight. There was no sound save the crackling of the fire and the crest and break of each kiss. Slowly, lightly, each cautiously caressed each other in the rhythm that was building, not sure how many liberties to give or take. Thoughts fled both heads, caught up in the moment, for better or for worse.

They broke apart, almost mutually, looking into each other's eyes with trepidation, worries soothed when they each spied the flicker of rose in the other's eyes. It was, after all, meant to happen. Severus broke the silence first.

"This may be the vintage speaking for me, but the vintage, a very eloquent orator, is telling me that this is not entirely wrong."

Hermione made an inarticulate noise of assent. She hadn't been speechless much in her life, but she felt as if any words would spoil the moment. She watched, as if she were detached from her own body, as Severus leaned in again to kiss her jawbone softly, only a brush of the lips. "As much as I am enjoying this, however, my honor compels me to resist rushing headlong into something neither of us understands while neither of us is capable of understanding due to both the suddenness and the wine. My suggestion is that we view tonight as what it was – an experiment – and neither expect nor promise anything to or from each other for now." Another kiss on the smooth skin of her face, and his forehead touched hers, his face moving to caress her cheek with his nose. The intimacy of the gesture was strange in juxtaposition of his words and their situations, and a fog of confusion settled over Hermione's mind. What game was he playing at? She didn't say anything, however, feeling the moment, the relationship, was far too fragile to be broken by questions and accusations.

"I suppose that would be for the best," she murmured, her head feeling as if it were…

…_full of water._

Hermione shook off the thought, shivering slightly, absence of another body beside her leaving her strangely bereft as Severus stood up, collecting her empty glass along with his and setting them on the hearth. He offered her a hand up, and she took it warily, feeling as if she were standing on unstable ground, and not only because of her inebriation. What kind of conclusion had they come to tonight? Had they come to one? Was it really so bad if they hadn't?

* * *

She couldn't remember how they had said goodbye. Had there been one last kiss before the door opened? Had there been more than the taking of a sobriety potion, more words, more contact? Her brain had never been so full of questions, questions she couldn't possibly answer with either her own reasoning or any textbook she would find in the library. Hermione's fists clenched as she entered the Head common room, ignoring Ron and heading straight for her own quarters. She flung herself onto the bed, face buried in a pillow to dispel both the heat and the tears of bewilderment pricking at the corners of her eyes. This was not Hermione Granger's life, she realized suddenly. Hermione Granger did not walk into the dungeons, tell the most frightening professor at Hogwarts that she was destined to fall in love with him, share a few bottles of wine, be kissed _experimentally, _and then come back up to her room to cry about it. A thin hand reached out and snatched a seldom-used hand mirror from her bedside table, swinging it up to capture her face. "Who are you becoming, Miss Granger?" Hermione asked the reflection, eyes tracing the tear tracks running down her cheeks, the reddened nose, lips chapped and red from kissing. 

Kissing.

The situation was quite absurd, too absurd for any of it to seem real. The dreams had seemed more genuine; at least _they _corresponded somewhat with the _normal _romantic pattern. And yet…Hermione had to admit that, between the two of them, this sort of careful, frank experimentation did make sense. She couldn't expect, nor did she _want _Severus to suddenly lavish her with rose petals and love poetry, dancing about in a ruffled shirt and spouting rakishly cavalier ballads and sonnets. It would be _false, _rather than unbelievable and absurd, and Hermione knew that, whatever the form may be, she most definitely wanted it to be _true._

Hermione didn't know if this new standing was a step up or a step down from her original position. On the one hand, she was a bit more certain that she wasn't absolutely bats _(in the belfry, not the dungeon)_, but it didn't make things any easier, either. What the hell was he trying to do to her, anyway? Snippets of his words came back to haunt her, unimportant and yet meaning the world. _Not entirely wrong…as much as I'm enjoying this…careful cataloguing of results…_

Experimentation, Hermione reasoned, beyond all reason, was the careful cataloguing of results gleaned from a variety of trials. Would there be more trials? Despite herself, Hermione smiled, and then a look of horror crossed her face. What if there weren't? What if he had stopped merely because he couldn't keep the farce up any longer? Why weren't there fireworks? Did _he _have fireworks?

Hermione wondered if she had just made the biggest mistake of her life.

She had, but in the worst of misfortunes lay the best of opportunities.

* * *

A short author's note: I didn't write this chapter – it wrote itself. I hadn't planned on an –ahem– 

interaction quite so soon…it's usually not my style, because I don't find it realistic. However, it seemed like a good idea at the time…for those of you following my love life, that is basically how my first "interaction" with the confusing boy went, and those were basically my thoughts, allowing for the fact that I'm not Hermione and the boy in question shares only the first letter of Severus's name, and neither of us have the wonderful assurance that we'll become soul mates at the end of all this.

Or you can just say I was as drunk as they were when I wrote this, which wouldn't be true, but perhaps it's a better story.

And now onto my unabridged thank yous! For those who are not concerned with them, thank you for reading and please let me know how I'm doing! No criticism is unwanted, as I want to give only Eggplant and Caviar to my readers.

Natsuyori: Again, it seemed like a good idea at the time! He always seemed like a sensualist to me…would you find it odd if I said I found my inspiration in the musings of Anne Rice's Lestat?

Magicalwonder: true or not, you still flatter me! And telling me it's not flattery is even more flattering! You can't win! As for Severus's slow uptake, my answer is simple: distraction and denial.

Ciladis: You stillll didn't give me a proper review, lovely! However, under the circumstances, you are perfectly justified.

Susanne: no review is pointless, and I'm flattered to be on your favorites!

Vickie211: Even though Hermione admitted she saw the same, I have a feeling it's not the end of his insecurities. Thanks for telling me about the formatting – I've gotten a lot of comments on that lately. I don't read my own stories, so I didn't realize that messed up the lovely formatting I have in Word. As for Sensualist!Snape, hopefully I'll start a trend so we can all have little nekkid Snapes gallivanting about in their opulent rooms. fans self

Aprilrenee: I apologize for being a good writer and hooking you so! Tell your poor bum to forgive me for making it sit in the same place through all my ramblings. All farce aside, I adored your review and hope you continue to enjoy!

Sallene: I'm so glad that you found this story as well! I'm glad you find it original, and I hope I'm keeping it that way!

Strega-in-progress: I know I'm going to hell…for that and other reasons. Luckily, one of my best girlfriends is Satan and the boy I'm chasing is Hades, so I'll fit right in. Yes, the soulmate thing is mutual, but that doesn't keep one from wondering…oh this is so high school… "he says that she says that they know that he knows that she knows that they know that we know that…" As for Snape, he's always struck me as a naked person, and I quite liked the image. Eggplant, however, evades my realm of understanding as well…it's a large purple vegetable that is rumored to be quite a delicacy, like caviar, which happens to be fish eggs…there's no accounting for taste. My penname comes from the song by Train of the same title, all about giving the person you love the best you can give. It was very sweet, and since I give my readers my best, it seemed appropriate as well. Thank you for your lovely long review. I adore you!

Holly Mariano: Your long review did indeed pleaseth me…in fact, it tickled my vanity so much that I saved it in my inbox. I can't even begin to reply to all the wonderful things you said…I wish I could hug you! I especially love the line, "If Rowling told us Severus liked to sit around naked, people would be worried, they wouldn't believe it. Yet when you say it, it feels as if it could be no other way. 'Severus, like being naked? But of course he does! I mean he's a Potions Master for gods sake…'" I love that whole train of thought you went on, but especially that bit. To be more believable than canon…that is the fanfic writer's dream, I am sure. I adore you as well!

Ayune: Snape is nummy in general, so it is very easy for me to write him that way. He's so enjoyable to write, in fact, that I had a hard time going back to Hermione this chapter, but it had to be done. I adored that last line you wrote: "Decadent, Rapturous Numminess."

Amr: Astute observation on how un-Lolita this really is…the first fic I ever read was done in that style, but really it's quite far from Nabokov's vision. I'm glad you caught the little pink light…I set that up not quite knowing how I'd use it, but it worked! As for Salazar's Socks, yes, that was mine…it popped in my head after reading a little essay on "Hogwarts Swearing"...I wish I could remember the url.

Kishkitten36: Horribly sorry about your husband! Tell him to get well soon for me! As for your review, you are too kind. As for Hermione and Severus…eh, I've given up trying to control where this story goes. Severus found out because it made this chapter so much fun to write! XD

Duj: Thank you for your concern…I really appreciate it!

Imhilien: As I said at the beginning, I can't thank you enough for recommending this on WIKKT. I am a member of the group, but I never even considered posting about my story on there since it wasn't a challenge, which was probably nearsighted of me. In any case, I read your recommendation and was incredibly flattered to have "Inevitable" compared to "Heart Over Mind", which is one of my favorites of all time. You have drawn a lot of people into this, and for that I am very, very grateful. I thought I recognized your name, by the way, and have started reading "Winter Heart" on Ashwinder…your recommendation means even more to me when I see how wonderful a writer –you- are. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Deeble: I'm so glad you found this story and are enjoying it so thoroughly! As for where we are in the story arc…I honestly don't know. It seems to be taking a life of its own…I'll just have to do the best I can to appease all of you "greedy readers"!

BouncingFerret: Thank you for your lovely review! I'm taking your advice and posting this on Ashwinder, though it will take a while to catch it up because of submission restraints. Stick around ff if you want to get faster updates until then, though.

MarebleGlove: I'm glad you like the pull of companionship! I hope you've enjoyed this latest installment.

Horserider: Do you have an account on any site? If your review is any indication, I'd adore reading something of yours. See above review reply for Ashwinder news

Jade: Interesting situations ahoy! As for the dreams, I loathe writing them and hate reading them, so I probably won't describe them in any detail. It's so hard to have proper imagery without being cheesy…lol!

Thanks also to: Phoenix Flight, Shadow of a Cat, Madelynn Rae, yaukira, Natasha, Venomequeen83, L Moonshade, ArcticAngelzTx, nebber, Ashes Kittyhawk, Meredith, K. Jones, Severessa, Althea Grey, neina, VictoriaM2006 (don't know what possessed me to write Victory…0.o), twinsrthebest, Lilly (don't die!), SeverusSnape'sLove, droxy, RedHeadDoxy, BaYerrulz, KarenDetroit, Inspire, Transylvanian, and GWeasley. You guys are absolutely awesome, and I had to hold myself back from writing you each a paragraph. Without you guys, this chapter would probably be posted next week!

Much love from Eggplant and Caviar


	11. Impact

Short Disclaimer: If I owned it, it wouldn't be for children.

* * *

That hadn't turned out like he had planned at all.

Severus stared at the closed door, absolutely petrified on the spot. It wasn't that the wood was incredibly captivating, and yet he still couldn't wrench his vision away.

He had intended to have an adult conversation with the girl, discussing the possible routes to take in order to avoid upsetting destiny. They would have outlined a plan to get to know each other slowly and carefully, and then moved on to work on the day's project. There would have been a little awkwardness, but that awkwardness would have disappeared in the work, and then they wouldn't have had to deal with it until the next step in their relationship presented itself.

But, damn it all, the moment he saw her at the door with her mouth _not _gaping for once, obviously having figured out his trick to throw her off balance, every thought of rationality had gone from his head.

Severus felt he had kept control over himself fairly well, that is, until he had succumbed to that first drink. He still couldn't believe Gr – _Hermione _– had taken him up on the offer of alcohol, and was both strangely glad she had taken it and horrified that he had, quite possibly, just taken advantage of a student under inebriation.

_Gods,_ but had she been a tempting creature.

He had expected childish claims of love and attachment from the Gryffindor, not cool-headed maturity and the quick wit that had intrigued him to offer her the drink in the first place. Severus had thrown out the script of the intended events within the first five minutes of conversation, and had been surprised and pleased to the ensuing conversation.

Severus had been surprised, of course, because of the revelation that _she _had initiated the entire trouble, and the calm way that he himself had reacted. If it had been anyone else, he might have been wrathful. However, time, experience, and a certain bias cultivated within the previous weeks led him to the conclusion that Hermione had done nothing more than he would have in the same circumstances. He had, of course, brewed the potion himself. To be angry at her would have been hypocritical, and hypocrisy always left Severus with a bad taste in his mouth. Not to mention, the way she had confessed and the following analysis and conclusion she had come to had impressed him.

It had made _sense _to exchange those seemingly superficial likes and dislikes, to find out what made the other tick and how the world was seen from her point of view through the explanation of preferences. Some of them, such as the revelation of her predilection for green, had surprised him and intrigued him beyond what he thought possible.

It had been years since Severus had enjoyed such a futile exchange, and the prospect of what companionship actually was had just begun to dawn on him.

After the fourth glass of wine, it had become extremely difficult not to draw her near and experience the physical comfort of another. Severus wondered if he should be proud that he waited through a couple more bottles before acting on his impulses, or ashamed that he hadn't restrained himself entirely.

Spirit of investigation, indeed. It had been too tempting to have her sitting there, in his rooms, knowing how much they had in common and that they'd end up together inexorably, no matter what he did or said, and _not _find out what it felt like to kiss her. Entirely sober now, Severus knew he would reenact it in a moment, and yet still have regrets hovering in the back of his mind.

The kiss hadn't been unpleasant at all. What was more was that all anxiety about the situation, all thoughts of impropriety and insecurity had fled the moment his lips touched hers. It had felt good, _right, _perhaps. Or, maybe, for once, he had let his heart _(or groin, for that matter) _take over his higher order thinking skills. In any event, for those brief, precious moments he had been happy.

Now, however, it was a gigantic dilemma.

Not just a moral dilemma, but a physical, mental, and political one as well. His body damned well knew what it wanted – more kissing, more touching, more physical comforts. His mind was a different story entirely – he didn't know this witch, had alternately been wary of and horrible toward her during her entire duration at Hogwarts so far, and would have to spend the next seven years of his life with her regardless of their current states of amicability towards each other due to that damned apprenticeship.

Morals, again, were tricky. She was of age, physically and mentally, but perhaps not emotionally. There was no question that she was a mature adult when it came to book smarts and rationality, but emotions were another realm entirely. It would be impossible for her to grasp the enormity of the situation. What did an eighteen-year-old girl know about love and the ravages it wreaked upon the heart?

Strange, how a man who had taken the Dark Mark and become a servant of the one who constantly put thousands in a state of fear and peril was afraid to harm one of the most aggravating witches he had ever met. And yet, it was out of the question. After all, 'soul mate' wasn't just a pretty word. If they were truly joined at the soul, harming Hermione Granger would hurt him just as much; if not immediately, then somewhere down the line.

Finally, there was the question of the two partially deranged gentlemen who had a say in his quality of life: Albus Dumbledore and Tom Riddle, more commonly referred to as Voldemort or You-Know-Who (which name had always, and would always, put Severus in mind of his mother speaking of the uncle who drank too much and started inappropriate conversations at family gatherings). Severus was still unsure to which he feared more. Voldemort was unpredictable and had a propensity for letting loose Unforgivables at the drop of the hat, while Albus was one of the quiet ones you had to look out for, and had an equally dangerous propensity for dispensing suspicious sweets.

Neither of them, Severus was sure, would be exactly thrilled with his taking up with Hermione. Voldemort would immediately question his tastes, especially since his relationship with the girl would not be one of absolute domination propelled by lust, but instead of mutual love. Lust Voldemort understood – one could lust after a Mudblood with an easy conscience, as they were 'put upon this earth for the pleasure of the pure'. Love, however, would make Severus a Muggle sympathizer, and therefore his loyalties would be put to question.

With Albus lay the opposite problem: he would question Severus's relationship with Hermione thinking it impure in nature, as well as point out the stigma of student-teacher relationships. Even though Hermione was of age, Albus naturally turned his nose up at relationships founded on unequal grounds, master-apprentice included and, indeed, worst of potential situations, in Albus's mind. The absolute control of a master over his apprentice could be easily abused, as the highly prized once-in-a-lifetime opportunity of an apprenticeship with a full master could be revoked any time for any or no reason at all. Those who entered in such a contract would usually rather give up every shred of freedom than have the contract terminated.

Whatever path the relationship with Hermione took, Severus realized, he would be unable to reveal any aspect of it to either of his superiors. Once again, Occulemency would save both his life and career. He only hoped that Hermione knew enough to keep silent. Albus would never peer into her mind unless it was absolutely vital, but a slip of the tongue could give her away in an instant. No matter how many times Albus had hinted that the sharp little witch would be good company, Severus knew that he hadn't meant it in _that _way.

The best thing to do, the _honorable _thing to do, would be to keep such interactions as initiated that morning to a bare minimum, and to avoid all discussion of the subject. That would limit the amount of memories to be suppressed, as well as limiting temptation to complete the formation of their relationship all too quickly. Hermione would understand, Severus was sure. After all, there had been no promises, and they both knew that the appropriate time for such things would present itself eventually. Until then, it would be as if nothing had happened.

Satisfied, Severus immersed himself in his work for the rest of the afternoon, successfully squashing any thoughts he deemed inappropriate.

Inappropriate, though, is a matter of opinion.

* * *

Sunday afternoon found Hermione, heart pounding, nearing the Potions Master's door. After the loss of the previous day due to alcohol and revelations, Severus had summoned her to an apprentice session on such an unconventional day to make up for the time. Or, at least, that was what the note had said. Hermione couldn't help but wonder, out of morbid curiosity, if this summons had an ulterior motive.

One knock was all that lay between happy oblivion and twisted knowledge.

The door opened before she could move a muscle.

"Come in. We have wasted far too much time already."

Hermione felt an unexpected thrill at the sound of his voice, her eyes traveling to his lips and wondering if they would soon be pressed against hers. She scuttled into the classroom, eyes trained upon Severus. He thrust an ancient text in her hand, sending a cloud of dust to her nostrils and evoking a sneeze.

"This is a very valuable compendium of obscure potions. The one I wish for you to attempt is the first listed in the fourth chapter. It is a potion created with the aim of repairing nerve damage that, in fact, turned out to render the drinker impervious to physical injury for a short period of time in addition to mending damage already wrought. It is highly difficult, and based much on theory rather than exact preparation. I have noticed that your tendencies are to do what the text says and nothing more. This will challenge your ability to comprehend the meaning behind the text. It shall take you several hours to complete, but there is no reason that you should not be able to finish it before the evening meal."

Her pulse quickened as she devoured the arcane book with her eager eyes. _Venenum Singularis._ She had heard of this book, composed before current Ministry restrictions. Debate had been high in the past few years on whether or not some of the potions fell under Dark Arts, but the current consensus was that, though controversial, the text fell just behind safe lines. It was most fitting that one of the few men to stride the lines between light and dark would possess a copy. He had to trust her a great deal to allow her to work on such a text.

Hermione's heart fell into the pit of her stomach, however, as she registered Severus's words. So. The man intended to lure her here on an unconventional day and then set her to work on a difficult, time-consuming potion the day after he got her drunk and kissed her? _Bastard._ Anger and shame boiled up in her breast, anger that the man would attempt to pretend that nothing had happened, shame because she had expected to continue as they had the day before despite his words that this was just an experiment, just a test…

Bugger if she was going to let him get the upper hand and see her wilt. Hermione delved into the creation of her potion, smashing errant thoughts with hammer blows. Stupid, to think that the greasy git would do anything but toy with her. Stupid, to think that a few drunken kisses would change six years of animosity. Stupid to…

A glance at the professor and the sight of his aura brought new rage to the young witch. _Stupid to think that he _doesn't _feel anything. Sweet Nimue, we're destined to be together. Can't he see that?_ Grim determination seized her. _I'll show him. I'll show him I'm his match, starting with making this the best damned potion I've ever brewed._

Impressing Snape. It was a noble goal, to be sure. She couldn't show any sort of weakness, any sort of need. Hermione vowed to pretend, no matter what turmoil was going on inside, that she was as unaffected by the 'experiment' as he. Logic, rationale, and maturity would be her outward veneer, and she would hone her wit to match Severus's own. There would be no romantic longings, no searching glances nor pleas to be held or kissed again. She would feign disinterest, and only when he broke down and continued their 'experiment' would she show any sign of affection. If he pulled away again, so would she.

For some reason, she thought it would gain his interest and respect.

It has been said that love is an art. Unfortunately, however, Hermione was no artist, in any way, shape, or form – not in Divination, not in Potions, and certainly not in the finer arts. She relied purely on logic and technicalities. Love, though, is not logical. The hazard of a first-time love affair is that nothing is gained by mind games; the most one can do is play to win. How one achieves this end, however, is purely up to speculation; not just the means to the end, but also what, exactly, that end actually entails.

_Behind the text. What's behind the text? _Hermione wondered, reflecting upon the Potions Master's words. There was nothing physically behind the text; she knew a figure of speech when she heard one. And yet, she couldn't see anything behind the text _figuratively, _either. They were directions, nothing more.

_Even if you follow each direction to the letter, you still won't have a potion unless you pour your very soul into it. You are far too reserved in this art, Miss Granger._

Hermione chewed on her lip. How, exactly, did one go about pouring their soul into a potion?

_When you create your potion, the outside world does not exist. The cauldron is your whole universe, the ladle an extension of your arm, the ingredients the very atoms of your being. You are not merely throwing together a concoction; you are copying the desires of your mind and heart and recreating them in corporeal form. If you do not give of yourself, there is no magic, and your potion, while 'accurate', is devoid of all meaning._

She glanced up, the telltale aura giving her both security and intense misgivings. The outside world was very hard to relinquish. However, she had studied for years in a noisy common room; one quiet man should have been easy to forget. It's the quiet ones, though, that you have to look out for. Gritting her teeth, a surge of determination washing the emotion from her breast, Hermione launched her assault on one of the greatest challenges in her life.

As she worked, she shut out everything around her – Snape, the dark room, thoughts of the rich décor behind the door in his private chambers; everything. She moved about the room as if in a trance, ingredients leaping to her hands as if they were magnetic and she a rod of iron.

As Hermione stirred the concoction, colors flowing from one to the next with each addition, she felt the strange tension inside her release in a sudden surge, as if a piece of her was being yanked from its berth. She exhaled quietly but emphatically, earning her a glance from Severus. Her vision clouded for an instant, red sparks at the edges of her eyes as she floated out of her daze and back to the cold reality.

"I've finished," Hermione stated blandly, strangely tired. A glimpse at the clock earned her the startling revelation that several hours had passed without her notice.

The dark man swept over to inspect her work, presence too close for comfort but too far for enjoyment. She could smell him, the scent of cobwebs, sweat, and herbs faint in her nostrils. Her heart pounded as he picked up the vial in which the potion was bottled, holding it up to the light as she had seen him doing countless times before.

Just the outline of his presence was enough to drive her mad, the mere memory of his lips on hers more desirable than any amount of good looks or sex appeal. The very thought that he deemed her kissable made him irresistible, and the knowledge that he was unreachable only intensified her frustration.

His eyes met hers, expression incomprehensible, face close enough to touch. "Miss – Hermione. Your potion is quite competent, more so than I have seen before. Despite myself, I am pleased. It seems you have taken my words to heart and decided to give a little bit more than your time to your work."

Hermione held her breath. _Kiss me, you bastard._

Severus nodded, not to her thought but as if to his own internal monologue. "Your work today has been sufficient. You may go. Tomorrow afternoon we shall continue, this time on joint project. I believe that you are ready to delve deeper into the secrets of potions making. Do not forget how you have accomplished what you have done today – I am sure you already realize that learning is cumulative."

With that, he turned away and walked to his own workstation, peering closely at his potion and giving it a couple of stirs. Hermione deflated, disappointment dripping lethargy into every vein. She nearly confronted him, but her promise to herself flooded back. _No weakness. No romantic longings. Maturity, logic, and rationale. _Steeling herself, Hermione set her jaw and turned on her heel, stalking out of the door.

Severus looked up, bemused. Hermione's exit had been one of barely suppressed fury. What was the girl going off about? He had come as close to praise as he had ever been while inspecting the potion, and had refrained from insult the entire session. What more did she want from him? It wasn't as if they were in an active relationship as of yet – potentially, yes, but officially not. Severus couldn't quite bring himself to take that risk yet. Too much was at stake. He sighed. It was a shame; he had quite enjoyed himself in a somewhat detached sort of way, despite the protestations of his honor.

Perhaps he would try speaking to her more on a casual level, rather than professional. It wouldn't hurt to establish some form of cordiality between them. After all, relationships – he sneered at the word – developed through some form of mutual understanding. Their previous conversation had revealed that she had an intriguing vision of the world, enough to hold his interest, and enough like him to keep him sane. Under her careful sobriety there was a sharp wit and the dry sort of humor he relished, as well as a hidden urge to explore everything she thought corrupt and rotten.

Severus glanced down at the ancient tome that held the concoction she had brewed that afternoon. _Sex, drink, and dubious potions. Yes, Hermione Granger, you and I are quite alike. We want what we can't understand, even if we don't understand what we want._

He was more accurate than he fully knew. From the very moment she cracked his logic puzzle guarding the Sorcerer's Stone in record time, he should have known that their thinking was aligned. A penchant for the dark, a love of books and knowledge beyond all things, an acute perception of reality, and, indeed, a propensity for missing the obvious were all common traits.

Dedicating himself entirely to the art of potions had come slowly to Severus as well. He had conquered it with time, as it was quickly becoming obvious Hermione would as well. However, giving of oneself leaves the supplier quite vulnerable, and neither enjoyed the feeling of vulnerability.

Love is an art, the same as potions or paints. If you do not give of yourself, there is no magic, and your actions, even if proper and accurate, are devoid of all meaning. Only through risk is there any reward, a lesson that comes harder than any.

* * *

Hermione barked the password at the Head Portrait, earning a peeved glare from the Valkyrie woman and her Viking charge. Ron looked up from his seat on the couch, startled at her sudden entrance.

"Salazar's wrinkled arse, Hermione! You scared the hell out of me!" His face softened, however, as he noticed the slightly soggy quality of her large brown eyes. "Hermione? You okay?"

That bit of kindness was her undoing. Hermione dropped onto the couch, head falling onto Ron's shoulder as her grief and frustration poured out in hot, shameful tears. Surprised, Ron snaked an awkward arm around her shoulders and patted her back, trying to murmur something comforting as Hermione fell to pieces. He couldn't hear a word she was saying, but felt an acute, protective pang in his heart as she sobbed as if in the throes of the worst sort of emotional pain ever. Understanding moved swiftly over him. Of course. Her parents. He glanced to the table beside him, bearing a letter with her mother's handwriting on it.

"Shh, Hermione, shh. It's quite alright. Look, your mum sent you a letter. I bet the owl got delayed or something. There, there. You know your parents love you." Ron smiled kindly at the girl as she sat up, wiping her face with the backs of her hands. He passed her the letter and she looked up gratefully at him, face red and runny. Tearing into the envelope, she unfolded it and held it between shaky fingers. Her eyes scanned the page, silent for several minutes, and then the most horrid look came over her face and she burst into fresh tears, inconsolable, the letter falling down to the floor as she laced her arms around Ron's neck in desperation.

Bemused, Ron returned her embrace and rubbed her back as he had Ginny's after her first heartbreak. Obviously he had messed up again; the letter must not have been a happy birthday wish like he had thought. He itched to read it, but didn't have it in him to ease Hermione off him while she was obviously distraught. Instead, he resigned himself to cooing gentle nothings until the sobs that racked her body subsided, replaced by the steady breathing of one who has successfully cried themselves into a state of blissful sleep. Ron waited until he was sure he wouldn't disturb her before sliding out from her fraught embrace and replacing his torso with a pillow, tugging a blanket over her curled body. Bending down to pick up the dropped letter, he unfolded the paper and began to read.

_Hermione,_

_Yesterday was your birthday, signifying your coming-of-age. Your father and I are very sorry for missing the date, but we were both working very hard and, as you haven't been home in quite a while; you know what they say – out of sight, out of mind. I don't know how long this will take to reach you – I never did really like post by owl - but do keep in mind we only forgot for one day, and we didn't mean any insult by it._

_We didn't know what to get you for your birthday, so we sent in a check to be converted to your sort of currency. I hope you buy yourself something that you will enjoy. I know you are far too old for frivolous gifts, but I still hope that you don't spend it all on school supplies. _

_While we are on the subject of your obvious separation from us, your father and I were wondering if you would like to stay at school for the holidays, or visit one of your school friends' homes. We know you are very busy and I remember the decision you made to stay in your other world after graduation; while we hoped you would follow a more sensible path and return to your education here in the real world, we respect your wishes. Since you are now of age, I suppose it would be prudent for you to move out soon. What kind of arrangements need to be made over there? We would like to help you with financial matters, but we don't really understand the workings of that world. _

_The reason I asked about the holidays was that your father and I were thinking of going to a seminar in France this year. I would tell you the details, but you probably wouldn't understand, being so far removed from us. If you really want to come home, we'll stay here, but if not we'd like to go. _

_Do get back to us soon and let us know – reservations will need to be made by October. _

_Mother_

_P.S. Is there some sort of emancipation form that needs to be filled out before you move over there?_

Ron carefully re-folded the letter and placed it back where Hermione had dropped it, feeling rather cold inside. The letter had been so detached and practical, not warm and full of well-wishing as a birthday letter should be. No wonder Hermione had dissolved into tears.

It made sense, however. Hermione herself was rather matter-of-fact and sensible; he should have expected that her parents would be the same way. He had met them a few times, and they had always seemed rather remote and bemused.

His mother had spoken of the careful distance that Muggle parents placed between themselves and their magical children – a defense mechanism, really, as they would soon fly the nest and be absorbed in a completely different world – but he had never seen it with his own eyes, and found the notion heartbreaking. Poor Hermione. Her parents would never understand her, hadn't understood her for years. She was alone in the world, save her friends.

What would she do when he and Harry graduated and went along their own paths? Who would she run to? Snape? Ron nearly snorted at the thought. Though she would be spending the most time with him, Ron sincerely doubted the man would be anything but aloof. At least she was staying at the school for some time. Professor McGonagall would take care of her, as would Headmaster Dumbledore. Another pang of grief wrung his heart and he rubbed Hermione's arm tenderly before heading off to his room, leaving her to sleep off her sorrows.

_Poor Hermione._

* * *

A/N: Some of you commented on the parent situation, expressing your reservations at the way it was progressing. I feel that, since they only see Hermione during the holidays, and the Order probably takes up a lot of that time, now, she would be growing further and further apart from her parents. It's hard to maintain that relationship, especially when they live in two completely different worlds, and Hermione must choose one over the other. It's tough, but unfortunately that's the way the world works. I must admit I was in a bit of a slump over my own waning closeness to my parents when I planned this out, but I feel that it would be natural for a Muggleborn to be affected by this.

Onto unabridged reviews, you lovely, lovely people you!

Heartnut: I'm sure you noticed my affinity towards leaving chapters off on cliffhangers as you read…it's a favorite tactic of mine. Welcome to the story! I'm very glad you're pleased so far – your review left me thoroughly and completely flattered!

Deeble: How apt that you asked what Albus would think! Seems you read my mind…I had already written that bit before I posted the last chapter! As you have already seen, Ashwinder is indeed getting this story…however, I'll probably end up finishing this up on both sites, so as not to leave people hanging on either.

ArcticAngelzTx: I'm glad you agree with my 18-year-old decision…since Hermione will be turning 18 early her last year in canon, I felt it would be interesting to give her a few more liberties by making that "of age", along with the other reasons I listed.

Dedanaan: Isn't discomfort a wonderful thing? I do so enjoy tormenting characters…gets the stress out at the end of the day -. Thank you very much for your lovely review…it made me smile!

Kirien: I love people who review several chapters as they read – that's the review slut part of my coming out -. As per several requests, this is currently in the process of going up on Ashwinder. Now that we've dispensed with the formalities, may I say I love you? It's so fabulous to have my writing style praised by a reviewer who makes me look up a word (chiaroscuro – gorgeous word, by the way). I, too, enjoy reading fics in which the romance comes on slow, like in real life…it's infinitely more satisfying, because it's so much more real (heck, the "relationship" I'm in right now has been going on and off for over a year and it still has not come to full fruition). And I also agree that Hermione should marry an older man or no one at all…Ron's younger than her, for crying out loud! Not to mention they have nothing in common. If they get together at all, it should be a one-week thing that ends horribly. Can you imagine her as a Weasley brood mare? shudder As you said, thank God for fanfic. In other news, you spoiled me with your lovely review…I do hope this symbiotic relationship continues -.

Magicalwonder: I'm so glad that you're pleased with the way this turned out! Overanalyzing is a trait I'm guilty of myself, and I'm an emotional person rather than a logical person like Hermione, so I thought it proper that she should be twice as plagued. As for the twenty questions bit, I use that all the time on a first date/first solo encounter/etc…it actually helped me figure out I wouldn't be happy settling for a friend of mine – his favorite color was blue, trite and boring, while mine and my love interests are (note the symbolism in H&S's favorites) green and orange, respectively – colors that a lot of people, surprisingly, don't like. I decided it should be the first step towards admission of compatibility that they could talk for so long over mundane things. Wow, I've rambled here. Thank you very much for your review, my dear!

Tisasil: Welcome to the story! I'm glad you're enjoying yourself!

M'cha Araem: Hoorah! Another multiple reviewer! Your words on my portrayal of Severus absolutely stopped me dead…I'm beyond words. I'm so, so, so glad that you think I have made him complex and original…that is my foremost goal. You've also flattered me to the point of blushing with your praise of my writing…must fan myself to dispel the heat from my cheeks! Your review on chapter 6 made me giggle with delight…I simply adore when readers quote back to me – it has to be the highest compliment. And, to top it all off, you corrected me! Twice! Oh, I'm faint…I love you! Indeed, it is per se, and not one reader in a million would catch that! The "take test" part, though, I think was a formatting doesn't do strikethroughs. My intention was that he wrote "take", and then decided he sounded too concerned so crossed it out and wrote "test" instead, adhering more to what he said to her in the classroom. You are a goddess to catch those! To the chapter seven review, I find myself in love with Severus also…I do believe that I am subconsciously planting characteristics of that confusing love interest of mine into his actions and reactions…but then, everyone says write what you know! Onto eight: Very happy you're noticing the titles…very few have commented on them, and I don't have my dictionary marked at the "I" section for nothing! As for the seven years…well, we'll just have to see how things play out, won't we? Perhaps I'll make seven sequels…each as slow-paced as this one! Muahaha! Just playing…I don't think my attention span would last that long. Do not fear, this story will not cover seven years of an apprenticeship filled with denial. Nine and ten I will combine, to avoid redundancy: I'm so glad you liked the 'platonic, courtly lust' bit…I cackled when I thought that up. My English professor had been talking about cavalier poetry and courtly love, and my brain absolutely ate it all up. Finally, you flatter me beyond flattery with your protestations of agony…hopefully this chapter came before you died. My goodness this reply got long. Many kisses and thanks for your delightful, delightful reviews.

Sallene: I'm glad you were satisfied with their first "interaction" …ooh, perhaps that should have been the title of that chapter…hm…in any case, thank you very much for your comments!

MagicAlianne: You've flattered me horribly, my dear. I hope you're satisfied -. As for your personal situation, I applaud and commend you for having and holding that relationship. I know personally how hard a long-distance relationship is…when I was thirteen through sixteen I had a relationship with a guy three years older than me who lived across the country. We're friends now, but it's tenuous…I simply don't have the commitment to do that. I hope you and your lover-friend continue your bliss

Ciladis: You toy with me. I love you. I'm glad you enjoyed the experiment…I was so nervous about putting it in. As for Hermione's tears, she is confused beyond confuzzlement, as you can see in this newly-posted chapter. I'm writing from personal experience here…there's nothing more bewildering than a relationship in which you feel you have no power over. I hope I explained it well enough in this update…/ let me know how I did!

USAFroggi87: Glad you enjoyed! And never fear – my dictionary is marked at the letter "I", and I could probably last a decade or so -. I've taken to writing down every "I" word I hear.

KDarkMaiden: You have flattered me beyond flattery, my dear. I am deeply humbled that you took the time to leave such an extensive review when you rarely review at all. I'm especially glad that you find this very natural – that's such a lovely, lovely compliment, because an artist's job is to reflect nature, and a writer's job is to make it seem like it could actually be happening at that very moment. I will take care, however, to not cross the line into where you may have to assassinate me for my writing. Thank you for getting carried away – your review made me smile the entire time I read it and long after.

Jedi Keladry: Oh, your review was absolutely lovely! I'm so pleased that you liked Naked!Snape…I took a risk in putting him there, but had to do it. I'm glad you see the reason in it. As for bringing you to tears…that's probably the highest compliment I could ask for, my dear. Your review absolutely made my day.

Natsuyori: Glad you liked! Anne Rice is the author of the Vampire Chronicles – Interview with the Vampire, The Vampire Lestat, Queen of the Damned, etc. Lovely, lovely author – decadent prose, gorgeous, well-conceived characters…I highly recommend her.

Ashes Kittyhawk, what can I say? Wish granted. Hope you enjoyed!

Rhiannon: Your review was short and oh-so-sweet! Thank you very much, and I hope you enjoyed this update as much as the rest!

Phoenix Flight: I as well wish that there could be more fics that bar couples from jumping into bed right off the bat…while I am not a Christian, I do believe that one should at the very least know and trust the other person deeply before consummation. It's nice to see someone that isn't just hanging around for the hot sex. I'm so glad you're enjoying this, and thank you for reading and reviewing!

Rhia: Your simple words made me smile so widely my cheeks hurt. Thank you so much for your review!

Pathatlon: So happy you loved it! It means so much to me.

Pricey-blonde: Thank you very much! I will try and produce the same quality, if not better – hope this new chapter appeased you!

A-dreamer-whose-lost: I'm so glad you approve of my cliffhangers – they are a fabulous tool! I'm very flattered by your compliments as well, and glad you thought the confrontation and experiment were in character. I to am a romantic who hides under the guise of a cynic…there are a lot of us around, believe me. And that is very true about Snape's character – he's such a closed book to Harry that he could have almost anything under the surface. Perhaps that's why he reminds me so much of that boy of mine (really, I shouldn't call him a boy, but that phrasing hangs on) – often people can get an entirely wrong impression of someone if that person feels the need to hide their emotions, and viewing things from one perspective is a terrible handicap. Thank you so much for your well-wishing – I'd like to believe in happily ever after, too, in all things!

Holly Mariano: Ah, if only this art reflected my life. As always, I adored your review…so glad you loved Snape's words. I had so much fun twisting my personal experiences into Snape's diction…he is such a delight to write for, and it makes me so happy that you're enjoying it so much! As for the vintage line, I must confess to altering a line from a song by Fountains of Wayne…the line goes "It might be the whiskey talking/but the whiskey says I miss you every day". I simply had to use it in this context, warped as it was by Snape's personality. If I didn't abstain from alcohol, I'd probably use it myself. Again, thank you for your lovely, lovely review. I always look forward to yours.

Amr: I'm glad you liked the putting of cards on the table…it truly does seem fitting for those two. As for your comment on the wine, I agree that it is disgusting, but neither of them were really in the mood to be sober, and it was a way for Severus to acknowledge her adulthood. And, of course, they have the luxury of hangover remedies and sobering potions. Thank you very much for your review!

Jade: Coincidences, coincidences! I'm glad you enjoyed the chapter, and understand about the dreams. Hope you enjoyed this update, my dear!

Vickie211: Your praise delights me, love! Ah, if I only had the time and inspiration to write a novel…you flatter me, anyways! I'm so glad that you find the situations so fitting…it seems that I take a risk every chapter, and I'm always sweating until the first review. Thank you so much for your feedback!

Alygdgrl: My jaw just dropped. You have no idea how flattered I am that I have inspired you to write your own SS/HG romance. As soon as I post this chapter, I'm running to read it. I think you just made my year, my love. Color me speechless.

VictoriaM2006: I'm so glad that you enjoyed! I hope you were satisfied with the explanations and further revelations I gave in this chapter, as well as the interaction with Ron. I have a horrible suspicion that, before this story is done, I may grudgingly come to like the Weasel -.

GWeasley: I really didn't update that soon…I received your review while I was wrapping up my edits. Lucky for you, I guess! I'm glad you like the sweetness and innocence of this…it's my romantic weaknesses coming out, I suppose. As for your questions, I'm dying to reveal myself but am firmly zippering up my mouth. Thank you for your feedback!

Pcb: Welcome to the story! Glad you're enjoying, and never fear – my dictionary is stocked full of "I" words, and I'm delighted you noticed!

Nelys1: I love you more! Your review made me grin from ear to ear. So terribly flattered! I hope you didn't go insane between then and this update!

BaYerrulz: So glad you found this, and so flattered by your words. I hope you find this chapter to your satisfaction, my dear!

Transylvanian: Ah, Harry and Ron…I am pondering just how to deal with them at this very moment. It's only a matter of time, I suppose…

Nashka: By the time I get through all these reviews, my ego is going to burst. I'm so very glad that you are enjoying this, and that you like the inner monologues. Thank thank thank you, my dear! Hope this update is to your liking!

Twinsrthebest: So glad you liked, surreal as you found it, and thank you so much for reviewing!

The Great Green Leaf of Peril: I just have to say that I adore your penname! So glad you like my characters, and I hope you enjoyed this chapter just as much!

Imhilien: Ah, my guardian angel! I owe you so much, and you continue to flatter me. I'm glad you enjoyed the "experiment", and hope you also enjoyed the musings of both parties in this chapter.

Joots: The mind games are just beginning…I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thanks so much for reviewing, my dear!

Duj: I hope you were satisfied with the explanation of the parents…I had already planned for this sort of outcome, but I do adore your musings on the Obliviation of Muggle parents…that is extremely intriguing! Thanks for reviewing!

SeverusSnape'sLove: Thanks so much for your feedback! I hope this new chapter met your standards!

LauraNotLora: I'm so glad you enjoy my writing, language arts geek that you are. Shows I'm doing something right. Glad you like my portrayals of the boys, as well. As for the parents, I hope you were satisfied with the explanations I have given. Life is so unfair sometimes, isn't it? Thank you so much for your lovely review!

Strega-in-progress: As always, I adored your review. You comment on things I wouldn't presume would make an impact, and it's such a lovely thing to see! I'm so glad you liked the experiment – it is indeed very like them, those logical types -. I hope I covered the parent thing well – I noticed the canon detachment and figured that they would start easing out of her life to avoid the pain of her leaving it. I'm so tickled that you enjoyed the teensy little note…see? You reference things that most people don't pick up. As always, I love it when you quote me – the response to Snape's question was so fun to write…just popped in my head and I had to get it down on paper quickly before I forgot. As for your fears that I will be overwhelmed with reviews…the only thing to fear is having review replies take up half the page, as I am coming close to here. The only thing that stops me from writing long replies to reviews are short reviews…I always have to toss my own comments back. As for eggplant and caviar, I have never tasted either…far too expensive for my pocketbook, and I'm a picky eater -. the penname is entirely symbolic.

Jo Ellen: Welcome, and thank you for your review! Hope this chapter came soon enough!

Cherdy the Molologist: You flatter me immensely…I don't think I've ever put anyone into shock before! I'm glad you liked Severus's gushing about potions…I adored writing that. So very glad that you found this…your reviews made me grin like the idiot I am!

Babo: So glad you enjoyed! As for the "I" words, I'm tickled you noticed, and they're all in my dictionary -.

Sonja: I'm so glad you found this story as well! I don't mind your "babbling on" at all…as you notice, I also have the propensity to babble. It's so wonderful to have someone tell me and appreciate that I have given Severus depth. You are a gem

Sam: Welcome to the story! Thanks so much for your lovely words, and I hope this chapter came soon enough!

Whew. That was intense. Love you all to pieces!

Only Eggplant and Caviar for you all


	12. Infidelity

I don't deserve you, readers. So, so sorry for the long time between new material…I have no excuses. I've been editing the story to put on Ashwinder, which has kept me fresh on the story and given me new inspiration, and life has gotten hectic, but I'm still very sorry. Thank you all who have reviewed in this period of time…I can't even begin to address you all, but each and every one of you has a special place in my heart. I haven't forgotten you, and I hope this chapter is worth the wait.

Quick disclaimer: If I was getting money for it, I'd have been fired by now.

* * *

Severus rubbed his forehead, feeling strangely disoriented. His classes had gone by in a dizzy fog, making him quieter and less snappish than normal. Even though it had been necessary for him to endure his first and third years without the respite of the N.E.W.T. level class, his wit had failed him and there had been no deluges of tears brought forth as a result of his sharp tongue. Perhaps the few upcoming hours with Hermione would bring back his disposition; their banter always seemed to buoy up his moods.

It was getting easier to think of her as "Hermione" rather than "Miss Granger." Even though there hadn't been any more _experiments, _Severus couldn't help but think that they complimented each other quite well. Their conversations, intellectual and casual alike, slowly acclimated him to her presence and revealed to him just how similar they were. It wasn't uncommon for one to finish and even – on rare occasions – _start_ the other's sentences.

On the other hand, it was getting incredibly difficult to both suffer his usual dunderhead students and, quite remarkably, to refrain from referencing Hermione's exceptional work to the products of his less-than-satisfactory students. It was as if she _(her _work_, not "her" in that sense, you deluded old bat)_ had become some sort of gold standard, and anything below her capabilities was lackluster and unsatisfying. It truly was a pleasure to observe the burgeoning abilities of such an intelligent and dedicated young witch.

Pleasure. That was a word he had no right to use. Severus scowled, picking up the pace that had begun to relax into docility. _Confound this situation. _The attraction of her company and the innate wrongness of feeling such warred in his breast. He didn't deserve her trust, and she didn't deserve his wearing down of her innocence.

Reaching his chambers, Severus pushed the door open with more force than necessary, as was his custom on Days Like These. He opened his cabinet of ingredients, scanning the shelves for those he required for the day's work.

Severus had chosen one of the more difficult memory potions, often nicknamed "liquid Obliviate" and quite involved in its preparation. It had a rather sullied reputation of being used as a partner to many "morning after" tonics, but Severus was naïve enough about the minds of teenage girls to believe that the innocent Miss Granger hadn't ever heard of such things.

He had, in his own life, used it to Obliviate fellow Death Eaters during a dinner and sending them back to their equally oblivious spouses and families in an act of mercy, many times commissioned by Dumbledore, and yet many times also embarked upon freely. Severus had also found it necessary for more insidious purposes, though always aimed at what the general populous deemed "the dark side". It was this dual nature of Potions, solely based on the intent of the brewer that he wished to impress upon his _tabula rasa._

Just as he was setting out the balm of Gilead and trisected forget-me-nots, Severus sensed the wards being breached and glanced at the clock instinctively. Damn and blast. She'd be exactly on time again. He itched to place a ward or hex in her path to delay her for only a few moments, just enough so that he could call her late and see that glorious anger spark in her eyes. A brief grin caressed his lips as he imagined it, yet disappeared as the familiar knock was heard upon his door just as the clock struck the hour.

Sighing, Severus rose to greet his young apprentice, fantasy dissolving into so much stardust. "Come in, Miss Granger. You are as welcome as always."

Said apprentice entered, hair yet again twisted into a gravity-defying bun at the nape of her neck. "In your company, _Sir,_" she countered irritably, "the latter is rather dubious. Am I always welcome, or am I very unwelcome, though you are honor-bound by the contract to let me in?"

Severus stared.

Hermione looked up and froze.

"New moon," the Potions Master breathed.

* * *

Hermione hadn't awoken in a good mood. She had slept the entire night on the common room couch, giving her an acute crick in her neck and upholstery-textured cheeks, not to mention incredibly tangled hair. Her face was a mess from crying, and she was sticky and dirty from the potion she had concocted the night before. Since she hadn't slept within range of her alarm, she was ten minutes late, and therefore was forced to take a hasty shower, dropping her shampoo bottle and dumping half the contents down the drain in the process.

Breakfast was no easier. She spilled the salt, and had to give in to the superstition of throwing it over her shoulder at the askance of her tablemates. Hermione didn't look beforehand, however, and tossed it straight into Neville's eyes, sending him howling with pain right into the next table. Though she apologized profusely, Neville backed away from her with one arm flung protectively over his face and a haunted look in his bloodshot eyes.

Transfiguration hadn't posed much of a problem; that is, until Neville had, in his half-blindness, transfigured her shoes into baby alligators, earning her several tooth-scratches on each foot and a trip to Madame Pomfrey to make sure her wounds didn't get infected. On the way up, she had tripped on the stairs, bruising her knees and flashing a group of first-years, who immediately dissolved into giggles at the sight of the Head Girl's knickers. Blushing furiously, Hermione had made it up to the Hospital Wing, without further incident, but still quite embarrassed.

Lunch had been a nightmare, with Ron and Harry treating her like she would break at the slightest provocation. They spoke lightly and blandly, as if she were some sort of idiot, and dangled treats in front of her nose to distract her from her misery. All during the meal her eyes avoided the Head Table, not wanting to have to look at Snape until actually forced to after classes were over.

It didn't help that her head hurt and her eyes itched as if she had been standing in a smoky room all day. Or that every conversation with her contemporaries now turned into a check-up session to see how she was dealing with being in close proximity to the horrible greasy bat. Or that she really wanted to say that it was hard dealing with him, for all she really wanted to do half the time was jump on his desk and pull him on after her and sear his lips with a scorching kiss…

It didn't help, either, that she wanted to stomp on every thought in her head until it lay black and greasy on the stone floors.

When she was finally actually on the way to the dungeons, Hermione felt as if she was wound as tightly as a spring. Her breath came fast in little spurts, her head whirled, and all she wanted to do was lie down and squeeze her eyes shut. And cry. She wanted to cry more than anything else in the world, if only it would relieve the tightness locked around her chest and the prickles in her eyes. The door loomed ahead and Hermione raised her fist to knock as usual, sending a biting remark to answer his own as she entered.

And now _this._

"New moon." Those two words echoed in her mind, only with more horror than her professor's voice held. He stood there, bare of the aurora that had become familiar and beautiful to her. Nothing affirmed the fact that he belonged to her, somewhere down the line if not immediately, and Hermione felt as if a rug had been pulled out from under her, as if some plug that kept her essence inside had been yanked away and all of her soul was flowing out onto the floor and down the drain.

If he pulled out now, she wouldn't have anything to assure her of that anymore. If he dropped her like a hot plate, she'd have nothing to hold onto until he came around. _If _he came around.

Gulping, she dropped her eyes to the counter that held the ingredients and shakily made her way over to begin, setting the tools out in her accustomed workspace.

"What is today's assignment, sir?" she asked, speaking loudly over the pounding of her heart. Her eyes catalogued the ingredients present, a faint feeling of unease worming its way into her stomach. Jobberknoll feathers, balm of Gilead, forget-me-nots (trisected)…

"_Stilla Oblivio, _a quite difficult potion, which is why we shall be preparing it together in order to see results. You should have heard of its name in so-called layman's terms. It is known commonly as 'liquid obliviate', commonly used - "

Hermione's anger boiled over, reddening her face and making her fists clench tight enough to make her knuckles go white and little red crescents to appear on her palms. "I know what it's commonly used for, you Slytherin bastard! It's commonly used as a morning after potion, to _forget _who you were with the night before and not suffer the _consequences _of giving yourself to a person you despise! It's commonly used to slip into a person's tea in the morning so they don't remember _you, _so you don't have to deal with some emotional woman clinging to you when you just want to get up and leave and have another one-night stand!" She stood, panting, hot tears running down her cheeks. Severus opened his mouth to speak, looking somewhere between stricken and furious. Hermione was angrier.

"Shut up! Do you have any idea what I've gone through these past few days? First everyone forgets my birthday – including my parents and my best friends. I get some superficial comfort from you and the Headmaster, but then I learn that you've gone to a – a meeting," she stammered, almost not catching herself. There was a moment's hesitation, and then she sped on like an out-of-control train.

"That made me worry enough, because by _that _time I knew that you were destined to be my soul mate, and it's just my rotten luck that I'd just get used to the idea before you got yourself killed. And then you come back, and _you _have the potion, too, and something wonderful happens! But it doesn't mean a thing, and you pretend it didn't mean anything a day later. I return to my room after _that _and break down into tears when Ron asks me what's wrong, and he thinks he can make it all better by giving me a letter from my parents that has finally arrived, only it's not 'Happy birthday, Hermione,' it's my mum writing to say 'don't bother coming home for the holidays – you won't be around in half a year anyway, so we're going to go on vacation instead. By the way, is there any way we can hurry the process of you leaving our world forever?' And now, as soon as the aura disappears, as soon as your reminder of all this is gone, you try to _Obliviate _me so you can effectively start your life back up again where you left off, no responsibilities, no consequences. God damn it, Snape! I lost my parents, my childhood, and my world in one week. I'm _not _going to just sit here and let you break my heart, too!"

Hermione was sobbing now, hot tears coursing down her cheeks in rivers, smearing what little makeup she had on and wetting her neck and sweater, breath heaving as if she'd never catch it again. The look on her face was one of utter betrayal and pain, mirroring the turmoil inside. There was a moment without speaking or movement, the only sound her painful gasps, and then Severus moved forward, silent, black robes swirling and face unreadable.

With a cry, Hermione turned and fled the room, door ricocheting off the wall and slamming shut. Her legs carried her faster than she thought them able, lungs aching as she tried to breathe through her exertion and sobs. The stairs slowed her down only marginally, though she slipped as she turned a landing. Hermione was up again in an instant, pulling herself up the stone steps with the help of the banister. As she reached the first floor, she was quite aware of the stares of other students filtering in through her watery vision. In her distress, she didn't give a flying _fuck _what they thought of their Head Girl, now.

Trying to get control of her tears only so that she could see better, Hermione sprinted up the next staircase, wanting nothing more than the comfort of her own room.

* * *

Ron studied his Transfiguration text with weary concentration, yet again cursing how damned hard it was to keep grades up after years of slacking off. Sighing and rubbing his eyes with his hands, his thoughts drifted to Hermione. She had been acting strange recently – ever since her birthday. Or, perhaps, even a little before then. This year, she had been much quieter than usual, seeming to observe more than she contributed. There was a chance that it was because he actually did his work now so she had nothing to hound him about, but somehow Ron doubted it.

_She's been like this ever since she got that damned apprenticeship, _Ron thought, frowning. Hermione had acted brave, in true Gryffindor fashion, but she hadn't been the same ever since that first day. It had gotten worse as time went by, especially after her birthday. He felt absolutely horrible for forgetting most of the day, but he figured what really had stung was her parents.

On Saturday, he noticed a definite change. She had spent all day at her apprenticeship, after receiving a note to arrive early at breakfast. When she had returned from that, late in the afternoon, she had gone into her room without so much as a "hello" to Ron, and, though she hadn't shown any outward signs or had a hangover the next morning, Ron could smell alcohol on her.

That worried him terribly. Hermione wasn't the sort to smuggle alcohol, but then, she had been acting strange, and she had the skills to create a hangover remedy with no trouble, even when absolutely pissed. He figured she had been drinking to drown both the long hours with Snape and the fact that her parents hadn't owled.

His frown deepened as he recalled Sunday. The greasy git had made her attend again, and when she had returned from that lesson she had broken down into tears with just a few soft words from Ron. He recalled the pain in his heart when she had sobbed on his shoulder, and how the long-awaited letter from her parents had devastated her further. Ron had never thought of Hermione as an emotional creature before, and the sight of her heart breaking had caused a rent in his spirit. Nothing ever touched her.

But something had.

_This year is killing her. Godric's garters, what did she ever do to deserve this?_ He sighed and pushed his textbooks to the side. He would get nothing done in this frame of mind. It was time for some carefully scheduled skiving.

Ron stood up and was about to cross to his room when he heard the sound of feet running down the hall and a ragged voice shout the password. _Hermione?_

The portrait swung open, and he turned to see a haggard and disheveled Hermione bolt through. Without thinking, Ron thrust out one hand and grabbed her arm, preventing her escape.

"Let me go, you bastard!" she screamed in response, clawing at his fingers. Ron gripped her tighter.

"Hermione. Hermione, calm down. Calm down. What happened?" His heart was beating a mile a minute. Second time in two days. What was going on?

Hermione merely shook her head and tried to tug her arm out of his grip, but Ron refused to let her go. "What happened?" he repeated.

Watery brown eyes looked up at him through tousled hair, and it was all Ron could do not to burst into tears himself. Hermione slumped, all energy seeming to rush out of her. She shook her head again. "Nothing."

Ron scowled. "This isn't nothing! Does this look like nothing to you? Hermione!" he hissed.

"Nothing happened," she whispered. "No matter what I try to change, everything's the same…the same as always."

The little whisper broke his heart, her quiet tones aching with regret. Ron's expression and grip softened, and he drew Hermione into a warm, comforting hug. She gripped his shirt tightly and cried into his bony chest, silent, painful sobs jolting her body. He rocked her slowly, shushing her as he had before. For how long had Hermione been suffering quiet heartbreaks in private? How long had he turned a blind eye to her inner torments? How long had he patted Harry and looked after the surly boy when it was this girl, this quiet child-woman, who really needed his attention? In a fit of tenderness, he kissed her hair fiercely, holding her to him.

Her sobs stopped instantly and she froze. Ron stilled as well, heart speeding up. He hadn't meant to do that. He hadn't thought of what it might mean to her. He had meant it as a platonic kiss, not a…oh, Merlin, what did she think of him? Did she think he was trying to take advantage of her sadness? Was this about some boy who had broken her heart and was she now lumping him into the same category?

"Ron," she murmured, voice husky with tears, half question, half statement, half intense determination, "don't you dare move."

She pulled his face towards hers and abducted his surprised lips, draining them of every drop of bitter sweetness. Ron's fingers clutched at her clothes in frightened arousal, breath hitching and world falling apart. Her own fingers were like steel, holding him to her, harsh, guttural noises keening in her throat. He could feel the salty tears on her soft cheeks, feel the pounding of each of their hearts, feel the jolt of horrible excitement leaping from her ardent caress on his lower lip to the bottom of his toes. Just as her wet, succulent tongue gained entrance to his mouth, they both, as one, pulled back, hands gripping each other's biceps, but as much space as possible between their bodies. A simultaneous thought ran through their heads:

_This is wrong._

"Hermione - "

"No, Ron. No, I know it's wrong, but I need this. I need…I need some sort of physical connection, some sort of affirmation that I can do this to a person. Please, Ron, you don't understand. I…"

"No! This isn't right! Why do you need this? Why do you need something false and physical and…and vulgar like this? You don't like me like this…I don't like you like this…why me, of all people? You could have the pick of the entire school…"

The horrible look on her face stopped him in his tracks, and he gripped her arms tighter.

"Is this why you've been acting so strange lately? You can't keep me in the dark anymore, Hermione. Did someone hurt you? By Merlin, I'll hex him into oblivion! Who's done this to you?" Ron yelled, face turning red with shame and hurt and protectiveness. He was shaking, or she was shaking; it was beyond differentiation.

"Ron, you can't tell a soul."

"I won't."

"And you can't hex him. Whatever you do, you can't let on that you know anything." Ron hesitated, but nodded, eyes like thunder. She winced. "And please, please don't yell at me."

"I won't."

He did.

However, after his anger sputtered out and he had no more breath to yell, Hermione explained the situation fully, every detail making Ron more confused and more ashamed that it had gone by without his notice. Finally, both fell silent, eyes downcast. There was a long lull, punctuated only by the crackling fireplace.

"Alright," Ron murmured, finally. "I'll do it, Hermione. I'll be here for you; I'll hold your hand, I'll kiss you in public and bring you flowers. I'll be the perfect boyfriend, but you will know and I will know that it will never be that kind of love. And when the time comes, Hermione, that Snape comes to his senses and accepts inevitability for what it is, at that time I will quietly step out of the way and go back to what we were before tonight. Your job, however, is to give the man a chance when he does."

Hermione blanched, face a contorted mass of confusion and betrayal. Ron merely looked at her.

"He's a man, Hermione. That's all. You can't blame him. How many relationships, real, good relationships, do you think he's had? Why do you think he so readily accepted the potion's verdict?"

"But he didn't accept it. He's avoiding me. He wouldn't kiss me again," Hermione's words were soft and hurt.

"He's scared, Hermione." The brown-eyed girl looked up at him in disbelief. Ron merely nodded.

"You're still a student, you're so many years younger, you're his apprentice, and what happens with you will have repercussions for the rest of his life if what the potion says is correct, which it probably is. I can see it. Merlin, as much as I don't want to, I can see it. You two just have to learn to love each other as you would have without the knowledge of the _Adamare Animae._"

"When did you get so wise, Ron?" Hermione asked, disbelieving. Ron merely chuckled.

"Never. I just do a great impression of it. Come on," he said softly, taking her hand, "get some rest. If you like, I'll hold you when you're sleeping."

Hermione followed, a soft smile on her face but a sharp pain in her heart. She thought it was infidelity.


	13. Interpreter

Chapter Thirteen: Interpreter

* * *

_What am I doing?_

Hermione lay beside Ron on his bed, fully clothed and quite intending to stay that way. The boy had promised to hold her in her sleep, but as soon as sleep took over, he had released his hold and rolled to the side, taking the covers with him. His soft snores and contented cherubic face were the only things keeping her from stealing them back, forcefully if she had to. Ron was being good to her. It was she who was causing the problems.

It had made sense when she kissed him. Ron had been so…protective. So strong and sure and a guiding force; he was what she needed. She couldn't deny he was attractive, and there were times that she felt as if they had crossed the border between friends and lovers in their silences, those lulls in conversation that were more intimate than a caress.

And there had been sparks. Horrible, sickening sparks of pleasure that had run up and down her body when he touched her. She could feel that his body wanted hers, could feel what effect she had on him. It had been a kiss far more heated than those Sev – Snape had parted to her. The sparks she had felt then were not so much urgent as questioning, a sparkling lure to see what the next kiss had to offer. Ron's kiss was far more the fireworks type.

And yet, it was a kiss far less intimate.

And yet, Ron was safe and warm and sweet.

And yet, he had made her stomach turn.

And yet, Snape had wanted to Obliviate her.

And yet, maybe she was jumping to conclusions.

Oh, bugger.

Turning over and curling into a ball, Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and tried to sleep. Three hours later, she was at last successful.

* * *

Potions were simple. Ingredients were combined with each other to produce, infallibly, the intended result. Cause and effect had rules and boundaries. You could create the same potion a thousand times without fail, if you knew what you were doing.

He hadn't expected her to have such a strong reaction to the disappearance of the aura. He hadn't expected the stress of the past few days to overwhelm her. He hadn't expected to make things _worse _by controlling himself and holding off until he understood what was happening to them. He hadn't expected that the sight of her breaking down would make him want to hold her, to touch her, to press her close to him and let himself feel her.

He had wanted to kiss her. Not to _take_ her, not to _fuck _her, not to use her for his own pleasure. Just to kiss her, and feel her kiss back.

Severus Snape never got what he wanted.

He stared at the door a long time after she had fled, feeling empty and hollow and lost. What had he done wrong? Had he frightened her? What must he have looked like, for her to have run off like that?

Severus made his way into his private rooms and peered into his mirror. Stoic. Cold. Repulsive. He sneered. It was the only face he knew how to make anymore. The gods be damned, it had been too long since he was able to show emotion; obviously, his facial muscles were out of practice. Where she had gotten the idea that he would do the horrible things she had said was no mystery. By the Gods.

"You've fucked up royally, Severus." He sank down onto his bed, head in hands. He couldn't follow her, or even send her a note. She wouldn't be receptive to his words now. All he could do was wait until she returned to his teachings.

Teachings. Fuck the teachings. He had to wait until she returned to _him._

_

* * *

_

Hermione Granger had never been more terrified in her life. She stood wide-eyed and stock-still as a statue, eyeing the doors to the Great Hall with the trepidation one would feel inches from the proverbial lion's mouth. The echo of voices through the thick wood was reminiscent of a riot, or the crowd at the Coliseum, thirsty for blood.

More terrifying, however, was the silence that she could identify as specifically Snape's. She knew he was eyeing the lone member of the Golden Trio and wondering where the illustrious Head Boy and Girl were, knew his suspicious mind would sneer that they were currently helping each other earn those titles.

More terrifying was the fact that she didn't know if he would be indifferent, or jealous, or outright furious.

"Maybe this isn't such a good idea, Ron. Maybe we should, I don't know, check up on someone in the Hospital Wing, and just pretend that we were doing that this whole time. Who's in there now? Fredrickson? The little second year who tried to get the pieces of Harry's broom out of the Whomping Willow?"

"I had forgotten about that…stupid shit…but no, Hermione. You're not backing out of this. You asked for my help, and I'm giving it." His look was stern, and Hermione felt a sinking feeling in her gut.

"Come on, dearest," Ron nearly sneered, gripping her hand and plastering a large smile on his face. "Let's give the people the show they want and teach ol' Snapey a lesson, huh?"

_More like you're teaching me a lesson, Ron. When did you become so Slytherin?_

"Ron, I - "

"Shut up, honey lamb."

He shoved open the doors, his expression one of incredible self-satisfaction, while Hermione looked appropriately guilty. The picture of a newly-forged couple. Heads turned to see who had entered, and Hermione was mortified to see that they turned back without a comment. As if seeing the cause of her blush, Ron leaned in to whisper in her ear, still smiling.

"They've assumed we've been shagging all year. How does it feel to be a promiscuous love-bunny, angel cakes?"

"Shut up."

"Hermione, one of these days someone is going to have to open your eyes to the real world. I'm just taking the initiative today to save you from it later, when there's more to hurt you." His voice was still in carefully harsh tones, but she could feel the softness supporting his words. Fury and anxiety warred with gratitude in her breast, and she closed her eyes briefly before looking towards the head table.

He wasn't even looking at her.

"Breaks your heart, doesn't it?" Ron's words were low and solemn.

"I guess that what we do doesn't matter, then."

Ron squeezed her hand, almost painfully. "Look closer. Are you that blind?"

He was staring into his tea, shoulders hunched, not moving a muscle. He looked…shamed. No, humiliated. And old. And…devastated.

"Oh my God."

"Quite right, sweetcheeks."

"Ron, will you fucking stop it with the endearments already?"

"I can last all day, pumpkin pie."

"Ron."

He didn't look at her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, eyes downcast. She was asking far too much of Ron – teasing the boy she knew loved her, by pretending she had affections for him in order to spur another man to take her. She shouldn't have been surprised that he was acting so...bitter. "I didn't think. I'm sorry for what I'm doing...to both of you."

"I know."

There was a beat, and he smiled again, this time genuinely. "Cuddle muffin."

Hermione laughed, but it was bitter. Ron squeezed her hand, this time gently. "I promised I'd help you, Hermione, and I meant it. It's not going to be easy, for you or for him, but I'll help you make it all right."

"Ron. Why are you doing this? I mean…I've been horrible to you. And you've never liked Snape…Sev…him. Why are you helping us like this? I'd have expected you to say that we don't belong together, that I should quit the apprenticeship, that this is wrong and sick and something out of Nobokov's _Lolita._"

Ron was puzzled at the reference, but silent for a moment before answering. "Mum and Dad took the _Adamare Animae_ when they were teenagers. They were dating other people at the time, and an epidemic of the potion was going through Hogwarts. The professors knew none of it – thought it was spring fever – but the potion helped so many people come together. Including my parents. They would have married their current lovers at the time if it hadn't been for the _Adamare, _and neither of them would have been happy." He glanced over at her. "If I don't believe in the potion, I can't believe in them."

This time it was Hermione who squeezed his hand. "Thanks, Ron."

"You're welcome, sugar buns."

* * *

Her absence in the hall had struck him like a knife. She and Weasley, gone. Head Girl and Boy. Gods. What had happened between the respective Heads in his time at school? There had been tales of sordid liasons, of dents in the walls behind the Head beds, of late night study sessions turned orgies. In the hard-earned privacy of private rooms, won by the students who had the most fun to make up after all their years of studying, there was the potential for anything and everything to occur.

Fun. Severus sneered. She would find Weasley fun, wouldn't she? A young man she could use and throw away, no middle-aged ball and chain to ruin the rest of her life. Someone who would kiss her in public and show her off and let her have her way. Someone who would smother her with affection and simpering glances, and who would take her out to fancy restaurants barely afforded by whatever part-time job he could glean...

He nearly gagged on the lump in his throat, the repulsive feeling of jealousy washing bile into his esophagus. Weasley was what any teenage girl wanted, not him. He hadn't even been an object of lust in his own sexual prime; more like a social pariah. Severus wasn't a fine wine; he didn't get better with age. It was entirely too possible that he was rotting instead, going from bad to worse each time he garnered another year. It was good that Hermione – Granger – was going after someone her own age. Good that she had stopped wasting her time on someone who was practically a corpse...

The hall doors clanked open, and Severus was acutely aware of the ensuing hush and then the bubble of gossip that immediately burst over the assembled student body. He didn't look up until the talking had subsided and he was sure her loathing glances had followed suit.

Severus raised his head slowly, peeking over his teacup to focus on the young woman who had become the object of his desire and guilt amalgamated. Her head was turned towards Weasley, his own undercooked features stretched into a wide grin, causing Severus's stomach to roil. Granger nodded enthusiastically, her curls bouncing in an all too familiar fashion, before she turned back to her food. Had Severus stopped looking then, this story might have ended here.

As her features relaxed from their simpering smile, Severus's heart nearly stopped. On her face now was an expression of despair, regret, and shame. It closely resembled his own upon their entry. Had the other two members of the Gryffindor brats hosted the same, it would have merely passed as a Golden Trio® Moment of Regret for Souls Lost to the War. However, exclusively on the young woman whose indiscretions had ruined his breakfast, the meaning was altogether more sinister.

Rage rankled in Severus's eyes, and he focused his intense gaze on Weasley. What had he done to ensnare her? What piece of blackmail was he holding to acquire her affections? She couldn't be sincere...not when her face looked like that. All of his hurt and betrayal coalesced into blind fury directed at the Weasley boy, at Granger's inability to protect herself from such situations. How had he compromised her? Had she told him of the _Adamare Animae?_ Had she gone to him in her hurt and confusion, only to get the sort of comfort that one could buy for a few Galleons on the streets? Had the comfort she found in her supposed friend cost the far loftier price of pride and freedom? What had she been thinking?

Severus felt a cold hand close over his heart. What _had _she been thinking? He didn't even _know_ her. Not enough to really have a grasp of what was going on in that head of hers. The thoughts that went through her mind were completely foreign; he couldn't second guess her if he didn't even have a first guess, now could he? It was different when one was trying to analyze the ways of another heart, rather than the ways of another's greed for power, or sense of justice. This was not at all what he had been trained for.

_What am I doing? Why do I even pursue her? I'm out of my league, and way out of my depth._ Pushing back from his place at the table, Severus left the Great Hall, leaving only a slowly cooling mug of coffee to mark that he had ever been there.

* * *

How ironic that all of his students muttered to themselves that he was in a good mood when in reality he was at his most foul and self-deprecating; that he was in a horrid temper when he was feeling, on the whole, quite cheerful. At this time, when he would prefer a bit of peace and quiet, his students were running rampant, delighted at getting away with things they would never dream of were Severus Snape in his right humor.

Now, classes over, dungeons still and stifling _(but quiet, thank Merlin; quiet.)_, the sallow-skinned man stared listlessly at the spaces between the words in his book.

_Fool, _he thought, bitterly. _Fool._

His eyes closed, fingers moving to massage life back into them, when he felt the wards being breached. Jumping up from his chair and quickly rearranging his appearance to one of stoic disdain for mankind, Severus approached the door and opened it before the intruder could knock.

A startled, freckled countenance stared back.

Something snapped inside Severus at the sight of the Weasley boy. Strong, long fingers closing over Ron's bony wrist, Severus pulled the startled man-child inside and flung him into the nearest chair. He approached the wide-eyed menace as a panther would its helpless prey, eyes growing dark and hateful.

"Well, Weasley, come to gloat about your latest conquest? About to blackmail me with your knowledge, and flaunt the fact that you are able to molest the girl in the sight of thousands while I am confined to watch her from afar out of fear of legal retribution? Or are you simply here to play goody-good and offer me your condolences, while throwing in my face the fact that she avoids me because I am repulsive, a corpse ready to lay in the ground and forget? Stop shaking, you loathsome worm, and answer me!"

"I - "

"Not good enough," Severus snapped, slamming his hands down on either arm of the chair, nose stuck in the redhead's line of vision, close enough to make his eyes cross. "You had better come up with a clever, all-encompassing excuse before I hex you in so many ways you'll have to carry a certificate that asserts your humanity. I'll count to ten."

"Please - "

"One."

"Sir, I..."

"Two."

"...wanted to..."

"Three."

"...tell you that..."

"Four. Losing patience."

"...Hermione and I..."

"_Five. _Hurry up, counting faster! Six!"

"...aren'treallyacoupleand..."

"Seven, Weasley!"

"...youscaredtheshiteoutofherandshe'safraidtotellyouwhatshefeelsaboutyoubecauseshethinksyou'llrejectherandshe'sbeingstupidrightnowandwon'tlistentomesoIthoughtIwoulddobetterifIcouldtellyouwhereshe'scomingfromandhowtodealwithherwhenshe'sbeinglikethisandyou'retheonethepotionpickedsoweallhavetodealwiththatnowokay?" The boy was panting, fear in his eyes, sweat rolling down the sides of his face. Severus stared down at him, rather dazed.

"What?"

Weasley gulped. "My parents took this potion. I know it's something real, and there's no way Hermione messed it up, so I've got to believe that she really does, or really will...love you some day." This admission seemed to make the boy turn a little green, but he hurried on. "And both of you are stubborn people, so I know neither of you will come make amends. I don't know what you did to her to scare her off, but I do know how she ticks, and it'll be better for everyone if you get each other straight, okay?"

Severus raised an eyebrow in disbelief. What kind of con was this child trying to pull on him?

Weasley caught the look, blurting, "...and what I was doing today wasn't anything underhanded...okay, it was, a little, but it wasn't intended for you...see, if everyone thinks we're dating, I can be your cover..."

"My what?" Severus's expression cleared. _Hang on, the brat's onto something here..._

"Your fall guy. You send messages through me for when the two of you meet, so the only thing that ever shows up connected to her is me. In public, I act like the boyfriend, so no matter how girly she acts over you, they think I'm the cause. I'm the only one she shares a common room with, so I'm the only one that will see her coming in late, and I won't say anything, I swear." He paused. "Look, I'm doing this for her. She's Head Girl, and an early apprentice to boot. She'll get into just as much trouble as you if she's found out. It just happens to help you, too. I'm not happy about it, but this is what happens when people become an odd couple."

Severus pushed himself back from Weasley's chair, stepping away a few paces before letting his breath escape in a shuddering susurration. "You'll help me understand her?" His voice was low and distant.

"Yes."

"And cover our tracks so none can accuse us of wrongdoing?"

"Yes."

"What do you expect to get out of this, Weasley?" Severus's eyes were hard, calculating, and ultimately dangerous.

The redheaded delinquent shrugged his shoulders, trying hard and failing to suppress his nerves. "Nothing much. Maybe have the rest of the term without Hermione breaking down into tears, maybe have you hate me a little less. Really, though; she's my friend. I just want to help her."

Severus marveled at the way a day could turn around. At dawn, he had given up all hope of happiness and fulfillment. Now, the Holy Grail of all he wished for, the Rosetta Stone to his desires, had dropped into his dungeon, ripe for the plucking. With this new tool, how could he fail?

"Mister Weasley, I believe we have a contract. A warning - if you breach your word, the most painful of deaths await." Severus held out a hand, which Weasley took warily.

"Now the first step, see, is to stop being so bloody scary all the time..."

-------------

A/N: And this is the part where I grovel. But, no, I can explain my absence! After graduation, the summer only got more complicated, with a close friend of mine slipping into depression and another (ex) close friend of mine breaking my heart. After summer began college, which took up both time and a toll on my spirits. However, when Halloween hit, the trials of the summer were erased when that first close friend of mine and I admitted feelings for each other, making the both of us believe in love again. The next few months were spent forging our relationship and taking finals and holiday obligations, which brings us here, to a rejuvinated writer. Also, I recently acquired a new beta! Welcome Sinaz to the team! She's incredibly lovely already, and has my thanks. Hopefully, with her help and my refreshed outlook on life, I won't get this far behind again. Thank you so much for your patience, and I do hope you all are still reading.

Thanks to all of you especially who have reviewed during this interim. There is no way I could list you all here, but each and every one of you have my gratitude.


	14. Innocence

_Miss Granger,_

_I require your presence after today's evening meal for a matter most urgent. Any hesitation on your part to attend will result in drastic reductions of praise in any letters of recommendation you might request._

_S. S._

Hermione clenched her teeth and crumpled the note in her fist, shoving it deep into her pocket. Every time she resolved herself to be calm, understanding, and forgiving to the man whose personality was like steel wool, he would cut her off at the pass with a note or a reprimand or a sneer that would transform even Florence Nightengale into a hardened killer. The man was so impossible!

Not hungry anymore, the young brunette woman shoved her breakfast plate into the center of the table and stormed off towards the dungeons. Her breath came fast between locked teeth, and she shoved past the other students milling about with a face like thunder. " 'Just you wait, Henry Higgins,'" she quoted, an Eliza Dolittle at her most scorned.

The dark doors of the Potions Master loomed before her, and she waited impatiently for him to open them, not bothering to knock. She knew by now his theatrical idiosyncrasies, and did not fool herself by thinking she could beat him to the punch. However, after several minutes of standing still, she finally gave in and pounded on the door a couple of times. No answer.

A faint pang of worry and guilt shot its way through Hermione's body. Where was he? Here she was, thinking of ways to kill him, when he could be hurt or in trouble or have gotten a last-minute summons to see…the Dark Lord. Worry became panic, and she pounded on the door again. "Professor?" she called, hesitantly.

In desperation, she tried the door. The knob yielded, and she found herself in his empty office. "Professor? Professor Snape? Are you here?" The place was dead silent, and Hermione shivered. Maybe he was in his chambers? In any other circumstance, she wouldn't have dared think of entering them without explicit invitation, but now it seemed she had no choice.

The door swung open, and immediately her nostrils were filled with the scent of the man she had worked beside, yelled at, and even once kissed. The sumptuous decorations were as she remembered, and the only thing separating that one fateful night from this one was the lack of a fire in the fireplace, as well as wine and the Professor himself.

In a worried daze, the young brunette sat in his armchair, crossing her hands over her roiling stomach. Where was he? She drew a silken pillow to her, hugging it for comfort. It was her fault, all her fault. If he hadn't taken her on as an apprentice, if she hadn't accepted, he never would have been summoned in the first place. How could she say so many mean things about him, when really he was risking his life to give her a good education. No matter how caustic he was, all of this was for _her _benefit. A sob escaped from her mouth and a tear ran down her cheek to stain the golden silk in her arms.

"Well. I don't know whether to be furious over the fact that you have let yourself into my private chambers, or flattered that my decorating sense has moved you to tears."

Hermione spun around to see Severus leaning against the wall with an unreadable expression on his face. Quickly she wiped her eyes, worry fading to shame and then finally rage.

"Where have you been? I was worried that you got summoned by…you know who! I thought you were dead, or _worse. _How dare you set a time to meet me and then not show up, when you know very well what the circumstances are?" she shouted, face red.

"Not to split hairs, Miss Granger, but the evening meal ended only about a minute ago. I left early to prepare tonight's lesson, and did not expect that you would skip out on a fine dinner just to rush to the side of your _beloved _Professor. Here," he sighed, producing a handkerchief. "It wouldn't do to mix salt water with any of the ingredients we are using tonight, unless you wish to redecorate my chambers with your innards."

Glaring at her dark-robed tormentor, Hermione snatched the handkerchief from his hand and mopped her eyes halfheartedly before flinging it back at him. "And what of the urgency in your note? I thought this was important, but here you are just standing there and mocking me."

It seemed as if a lightbulb had gone on behind Severus's eyes, and he motioned for Hermione to follow him. Biting back harsh words, she exited the lounge and followed him to a dining room of sorts. Frowning in confusion, she was about to ask what they were doing there when the tall man in front of her produced a bottle of wine and two glasses with a flourish, setting them down on the table in a clink of crystal. A glance towards the table also revealed a selection of fruit, bread, and cheese. With a start, Hermione recognized his behavior as an attempt at, in the least severe case, an apology, and in the most, a romantic evening.

The next sound in the room was her bursting into laughter.

* * *

Severus Snape was not a romantic man by inclination. Nor had he ever wished to be, in his youth or adulthood. However, his meeting with the Weasley creature had convinced him that the only way he would ever begin to deal with Hermione was by showing some signs of a romantic nature. Or, at least, admitting that Hermione had a romantic nature and would be easily won over if he complied with it.

So, his approach to most things in life, he had researched proper methods for apologies, ranging from cards (not good; a paper trail would be fatal) to flowers (definitely going too far), to candlelight dinners (a personal favorite activity, though usually they involved only one person). He had engineered his apology to what he thought was perfection, and while the Gryffindor's sense of timing was a bit off, he hardly thought his plan was unfitting.

But the incorrigible girl was still laughing at him.

"I hardly see what is so amusing," he said loudly, trying to be heard over the hysterical giggles of the young woman. Hermione tried to reply, but dissolved into more uncomfortable-looking bouts of laughter.

"You…" was all she managed before collapsing on the floor. Severus rolled his eyes and crossed his arms, exasperated. He let her finish her fit, not even trying to reinstate the conversation until the last hiccups and wheezes had finished.

"I'm sorry, Professor…"

"Please. None of that here. You know the rules."

Hermione nodded. "I'm sorry. I just…did not expect anything like this when I arrived."

Severus nodded. "Well. You have certainly taught me a lesson. I shall never again attempt to do anything underhanded or unexpected again around you, lest you insult me so again." Certainly he was wasting his time on the ungrateful girl. Did she know how much of his pride this had cost him? The insult she had given him was at least equal to the offense he had committed which had led to this attempt at apology.

"Oh, please, don't say that!" The words tumbled quickly out of the young woman's mouth, catching Severus by surprise. A blush came to her cheeks, and she stumbled to recover.

"What I mean is…I mean what I didn't mean…I…"

There were two options for Severus to consider. One, he could clean up the dinner, ignore Hermione, and instead start an impromptu lesson. This would preserve his dignity, especially if he made the lesson a grueling one, and push the evening out of both minds.

Two…

_Oh, fuck it all._

Severus's arm shot out and tugged the young woman to him, his other hand coming around to rest on her waist while his mouth met hers. She was as warm and soft as he had remembered; it had not just been a product of intoxication. Her mouth moved against his, and he closed his eyes to savor the sensation. It was a relief to be in this position again, after so long of denying himself the pleasure. For once he allowed himself to forget that she was his student, and to think of her as a woman who, though exasperating at times, was too hard to resist.

After what seemed like ages, he slowly released her from his embrace, his eyes downcast. "Forgive me, I…" he started, then sighed, not wanting to release her hand. "I fear I may have insulted you the last time we met. I did not foresee that you would react in that way. I would have apologized as soon as I realized this, but you ran off and I did not get the chance," he continued, hesitantly. Severus dared to look Hermione in the eye. He did not know what it was that possessed him in moments like these, what made him as flighty as a teenager instead of steadfast like reasonable adult, but there was something about this surprising young woman.

Hermione nodded at his words, but rather than a composed response, like Severus had expected, she launched herself into his arms and ground her mouth against his in a fit of heated passion. Severus found himself staggering back into the wall, relishing the feel of the cool, hard wall against his back and the warm, soft woman pressed against his chest. Mind devoid of all thought, he let natural impulse take over and gathered Hermione up in his arms, carrying her to the lounge and depositing her on the soft rug, the wood in the fireplace igniting in a rush of warmth as he whispered a few soft words. Hermione clung to him, and he to her, as they reveled in the feel of one another's touch.

Strands of her hair tickled his face, his honed senses detecting the scent of shampoo and soap and woman, a physically maddening amalgamation that sent sparks of desire down into his toes. In an instant he was completely aware of her every movement and breath, of every heartbeat and quiver. The mere touch of her body against his hands was not enough. He moved his hands across her cloth-covered waist, wanting to know every shape of every muscle, bone, and curve. A great sigh welled up in his chest and he released it, breath whisking a curl from her cheek. Severus closed his eyes, wanting to heighten his sense of touch in place of sight.

It didn't matter that in reality she was his student, that she was a brown-haired, brown-eyed girl of no overwhelming beauty. She was here, in his arms, destined to belong to him and only him until the world crumbled to dust. She was Hermione, and he was Severus, and that was enough.

It was different this time. Somewhere along the line, the chemistry between them had shifted subtly. Perhaps it was because each had been prying the situation apart, analyzing each feeling that washed over them in the presence of each other. Perhaps it was because of the desire he had been repressing. Perhaps it was because the time was right for them, whether or not it was right for the rest of the world. Whatever it was, Severus lost himself in the delectable pink lips and smooth tongue and little arms that wrapped hesitantly around his waist.

Innocence was not a barrier, he realized. It was a balm against all the troubles of the world. _Anyone who takes this from me is in the wrong, _he thought, caressing a shoulder blade that was imperfect at best, but now was a part of a soothing whole. _I've done my penance. I've said it before. Now I believe it. If there is a higher power, let me keep this, or leave me alone._

Hermione sighed against his lips, her arms drawing tighter across his back, her body pressing more insistently into his. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered what she was thinking. Was she immersed solely into the physical pleasures, or did she feel how _right _this was? Did she know what she did to him? Did she realize the significance of the moment? Would she regret stepping off her pedestal and into his world?

Severus raised one hand to her face and stroked her cheek with a rough thumb, other arm encircling her waist and fingers making trails up her side. Hermione's skin shivered under his touch and she leaned in hard to the next kiss, lips searing his with the intensity. Her fingernails clutched his robes tightly as if she were afraid he would drift away before she could sate her hunger.

He was frightened at his reaction, but couldn't stop for anything in the world. How could this be happening? How could something this good go on? Severus hadn't had much lasting happiness in his life. The moment was all he could ever rely on; the moment was the only thing that mattered. This time, though, he wanted the moment to last forever, to stretch into his past, absorb his present, be waiting for him in the future.

It _could _go on, though. The realization hit him like a ray of sunlight. It could, and it would. They were soul mates, were they not? They had seen it through the potion, and the potion did not lie. She had said she didn't want to lose him. If fate was correct – and fate usually was – they had been born for each other. The prospect thrilled him, buoying his heart up to his head until he felt drunk with the pleasure of holding her.

"Stay with me tonight," he whispered, husky desperation in his voice. To his satisfaction, she did not say a word, but merely caressed his face with her hand and kissed him again.

* * *

Could it be? Did I update this?

No, it isn't a dream. So many of you commented and favorited and watched this story that even I felt compelled to read it again, and in reading it I realized: it's pretty darn good. With the sixth and seventh books out, and rather depressing, I feel it is my duty to continue this story in defiance.

Thanks to all my readers and reviewers. This chapter is all for you.


	15. Imbedded

Author's Note: This story in its completed form is now on Ashwinder (.com) so I could have a more mature rating. I'm very sorry to all of you who thought this was abandoned! Thanks for reading.

* * *

Chapter 15: Imbedded

* * *

Several hours later, and several stories above, a lanky redhead checked for the final time to see if Hermione had returned to her room last night. With a faintly sick but satisfied sigh, Ron nodded in affirmation. She and her…Hermione and Sn…bloody hell, the star-crossed couple had finally made up. Or had killed each other, and would be found weeks later rotting in some antechamber after several Slytherins complained of the smell. One way or another, neither Hermione nor Snape would be castrating him anytime soon.

A knock on the common room door jolted Ron out of his careful avoidance of any mental imagery, and he froze like a deer in the headlights. What kind of story could he come up with if someone was looking for Hermione? "I should have thought this out before I became a fall guy," he murmured to himself. He glanced around the room for inspiration, gaze lighting upon a stack of books. "Library. Of course. Lucky for me, Hermione's easy to cover for. Always up early, always in the library, never causes any trouble." With a sigh of relief, he strode over to the door and opened it, confidently.

"Hallo, Ron," Harry greeted, sleep-ruffled and disheveled. "Ready to go down to breakfast?" he asked, holding back a yawn.

"Yeah, yeah, let me just grab my books," the redhead replied, as nonchalant as possible. He quickly gathered up his school things, pausing to check the mirror to see if he needed to shave. Alas, he didn't.

"Where's Hermione at, Ron?" Harry inquired, slightly suggestively. "Tire the old girl out? Never mind, I don't want to hear about it. It's like asking if someone had a good shag with your sister," he amended, sweeping his hand through his messy hair.

Ron let out a laugh and tried to put on a smug expression. "Nah, she's in the Library, as usual. Doing some 'research'," he added, fingers forming quotation marks in the air, "for later. She'll be down to breakfast pretty soon, though."

Harry rolled his eyes, green flashing in the sun. "Please, spare me the details. Come on, now, I'm starving." He threw a lighthearted punch at his friend, who received it with good grace and followed him out the door.

_That wasn't so bad, _he thought. _This fall guy stuff is easy. _Ron suppressed a grin. Telling a couple of lies was nothing, not for the girl that had probably saved his life six or seven times.

Hermione moaned softly as she woke, the beautiful strands of sleep falling away and replaced by soft sheets and air that tasted of musk. The events of the previous night came back to her slowly, as if intended to be relished. There had been wine, and more kisses, and the delightful sensation of falling asleep next to a man who held her tight as if he could not bear to let her go. The brunette's lips curled into a luxurious smile, and it was that particular moment that the clock struck eight.

Instantly catapulted out of bed in a paroxysm of fear, Hermione scrounged the room for a mirror and hastily straightened her uniform. "Shit, shit, shit! Why didn't he wake me up?" she muttered to herself, pulling on her shoes and binding her hair into a quick bun. Grabbing her bag full of books, and desperately thankful she had been too angry to drop them off in her room before coming down to the dungeon, Hermione suddenly remembered whose class she was late to.

"Well, I suppose we couldn't arrive together…but he should have at least woken me up! The rat!" All her fuzzy feelings disappeared, replaced by indignation at being late. She should have set up an alarm on her wand, or at least…

No time for that now, though. It was lucky the classroom was on the same floor, for she only had to run down a few hallways. It wasn't lucky, however, that she didn't get a chance to see the sun at all, which only worsened her mood. _Had to be a man who lived in a dungeon, didn't he? Dank and dreary, just like his personality sometimes – most times. _

Finally, Hermione reached the classroom, and cringed as she heard his voice introducing the lesson. Would he ignore her entrance, out of some sort of courtesy kindness? _Unlikely, _she admitted, pushing the door open.

"Ah, Miss Granger. You have seen fit to join us, I see. We should all be thankful, students, that she has deigned to travel the long hallways between here and her quarters." The sarcasm was dripping from his words like cold molasses, a slow buildup to the humiliation he was about to bestow. Several of Hermione's classmates cast her sympathetic looks.

"Really, it must have been quite a feat to get out of your bed this morning, Miss Granger. I admire your tenacity and discipline. Why, suffering the clumsy ministrations of Weasley all night would put any lesser witch in a coma for a week. But please, don't let me insult your choice of partner. I'm sure you needed to catch up on your sleep, anyway. In fact, generous as I am, I am willing to allow you to make up any work you missed in class…provided that you make it up from the hours of seven to midnight, every day this week and the next. You know, it's quite interesting that work can somehow double, triple, even quadruple each minute you are gone. Wouldn't that be an interesting topic for a twelve-foot long essay, Miss Granger? I'd like to see it on my desk by tomorrow. Oh, and don't bother bringing a quill or parchment to your detention…I mean, your makeup session. We will be studying the finer points of cauldron scouring, so please, only a toothbrush and your person need be present."

His voice had not wavered from its mock-kindness, but Hermione's teeth were clenched together as if she meant them to break. _That rat! That mangy, no-good…_

"If you would please sit down, Miss Granger? There are students trying to learn here, and I am sure they wish for me to continue on with the lesson."

_Oh, just you wait, Severus Snape. Just you wait, _Hermione thought, sending sharp mind-daggers at the man who was responsible for that entire morning. If she didn't know any better, she'd have thought he was in a terribly good mood.

* * *

Severus was in a terribly good mood. The Weasley boy had been right, after all. And it could only get easier from here, he realized. Now that the young witch had submitted herself to his embraces, there would be no more of this silly misunderstanding business. His life would no longer be full of empty evenings, but of alchemical sessions followed by intellectual discussions, and a woman to hold at the end of the night.

Yes, he needed to thank Weasley.

"Severus, did I just hear you right?" McGonagall eyed Severus with suspicion. "You are recommending _Ronald Weasley, _one of your least favorite students, be up for a Transfiguration apprenticeship? Have you gone mad, or do you have something up your sleeve?"

"Is the boy not competent? Are you not currently looking for an apprentice?"

"What are you up to, Severus?"

The dark-haired man offered up his palms in supplication. "I am not up to anything. I simply believe the boy, while dreadful in potions, has something going for him in the field of Transfiguration."

"And?" The woman's hard eyes bored into his, and Severus smiled.

"And he deserves a thank-you for providing me a chance to finally catch Granger in the wrong."

Minerva smiled, quite reluctantly. "There's the Severus Snape I know. For a moment, I thought you were Ron using Polyjuice. After all, a recommendation from you is practically a guarantee of success in any field." She took a sip of her tea, and cocked her head to the side as if to examine him.

"Miss Granger is quite a challenge to you, isn't she? I must admit, I was surprised when you took her on as an apprentice. I thought either you or her would terminate it in a week, regardless of the contract. I am quite pleased to see that, not only have you not terminated your agreement, you have reported a vast improvement in Miss Granger's skills, and do seem yourself to be overall happier. I always said challenge was necessary for any pride in success."

Severus sighed, admitting reluctantly, "And a challenge she is. However, it is an ease to the mind and vocal cords that there is one student within these walls that only needs to hear instructions once. If she were more of a Slytherin, she would be close to an ideal student. You have no idea how much this admission cost me, Minerva. Be thankful I was in a good mood today."

Minerva laughed softly as Severus turned and exited the room. "Severus?" she called, knowing he wouldn't answer. "I'll think about Mr. Weasley."

Severus nodded, almost imperceptibly, and headed back down to the dungeons.

* * *

"He said _WHAT?_"

The exclamation rang out all through the dining hall, causing heads to turn and professors to glare at the redhead whose complexion matched one of an angry salmon. The Gryffindor table shushed the furious Ron Weasley, casting furtive glances at the high table. Hermione's head rested in her hands, cheeks flushed from embarrassment. Why did that stupid Ravenclaw have to spread what happened in Advanced Potions? Why couldn't they just keep their mouth shut?

"Shh, Ron, don't make a scene about it, okay?" she whispered. Ron looked at her, incredulous.

"That oversized bat just insulted me in the worst way, Hermione! You have no idea!" he yelled back, so angry he was shaking. He was about to say something else when his brunette friend laid a soft hand on his arm.

"Don't worry about it. You and I know the truth about it all, _right?_" she reminded him gently, pinching his skin.

"Ow!"

"Shush!"

"Mr. Weasley." Professor McGonagall appeared at his elbow, the small woman peering over her glasses at the young Gryffindor. "I must insist I see you in my office after dinner. Please be punctual and, if you would, bring any examples of Transfiguration work you may have saved over the years. And don't forget your wand. Thank you, Mr. Weasley, you may continue eating."

The Transfiguration mistress made her way back to the high table, leaving Ron with little to say except,

"What was all that about?"

Hermione scrutinized the high table, looking from Professor McGonagall to the stoic man beside her. "I think," she answered carefully, "That she is looking at you as a potential apprentice."

"Why on Earth would she do that?" Ron exclaimed, agog. Hermione was asking herself the same question. It was true that Ron did have a certain flair when it came to Transfiguration, at least, after he had started to buckle down and actually look at the subject matter. However, it was strange that two professors had taken on apprentices within a few months of each other, especially when it was two of the most exacting teachers at Hogwarts.

She heard a sharp intake of breath, and out of the corner of her eye caught Ron looking quickly at the staff table, then at his food. He coughed twice, loudly, then, in a slight stammer, said, "Maybe they're trying to prepare us…you know, for the upcoming battles we'll be facing. In any case, I'm going to…get some things to bring to the Professor's office. I'll meet you at the common room later tonight, okay, Hermione?"

Hermione nodded, accepting his soft kiss on the cheek, and watched him exit the hall. She noticed, with a strange feeling curling in the pit of her stomach, that he shared a significant look with Severus before leaving.

Tapping one finger against the table, Hermione's surface expression was deadly calm, while the currents of suspicion roiled in her breast. There was another game on the table, she realized. One she could only guess at. There was something fishy about this apprenticeship, and in Ron's behavior in general. She knew that he was covering for her; Ron had said as much. However, she did not like the thought that Severus was in on it, too. And, if her suspicions were correct, that Ron had done something worth his express gratitude.

She would get to the bottom of this. The trick was finding the party that would crack first. And that, she knew, wasn't much of a trick at all.

* * *

"Just tell me, and you won't get hurt!"

"I'm already hurt! Ow, get off, get off!" Ron protested, his face ground into the floor. "I don't know what you're talking about! I was just getting my stuff to see McGonagall! I didn't floo anyone, honest!"

Hermione shifted her weight to make her captive even more uncomfortable. Way back in her third year, she had discovered that, when pushed too far, she had a violent streak. Draco Malfoy had been the first to find this out, followed in later years by several neighbor boys and girls back home who laughed at her appearance. When her mother had questioned her about her unladylike behavior, she had used the lack of subtlety her house was famous for as an excuse. "It's in my blood," she explained.

"You're in league with Professor Snape! You're his spy! Admit it!"

"That's absurd!"

"Admit it!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

"Am I…um…interrupting something?" Harry's voice shattered Hermione's wits, and she realized, shell-shocked, exactly where she was (on top of Ron) and what she was doing (intensely interrogating him while rocking his face into the floor). A blush immediately stampeded into her cheeks, and she jumped off the rug-burned redhead, a sheepish expression on her face.

"How much did you hear?" she said quickly, immediately cringing. That didn't sound suspicious at all.

Harry chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. "Just enough to make me never want to look you two in the eye again," he admitted. "If you two haven't noticed the time, Ron needs to go see McGonagall, and you're due for a detention with Snape. Rotten luck, that is. I wonder if he'll add the lost time of your detention to your apprenticeship."

"I wonder," Hermione sighed. "Fine then, we'll continue this later, Ron," she told him, her tone dire. The brunette witch rummaged around in her drawers for a spare toothbrush, the only tool she had been permitted to bring to her detention. It was downright degrading, she thought, grinding her teeth, to be serving detention to her future…whatever, just because he had asked her to stay the night and had not decided to wake her up. Well. At least she had even more of a chance to find out just what Severus Snape's business was with one Ronald Weasley.

* * *

"Sit down, Miss Granger, and stop waving that…toothbrush at me. Why on earth have you brought such a thing down here, anyway?" Severus asked, plucking the tool from her hands and examining it. "Is this plastic? I have often wondered if the wizarding world could improve upon such a material. It seems infinitely useful, though in its current form it is an insult to Mother Nature. Nasty stuff. I am surprised you, Miss Granger, would own such an environmental bane."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You told me to bring one to my detention, _sir._ Please answer my question. Are you or are you not having Ron spy on me? That 'apology' last night, as you called it, is not something characteristic of you, as I said last night. Is he telling you how to get on my good side?"

Severus sighed, leaning back into his chair and suppressing a chuckle. He had forgotten the details of the speech he had given that morning, only remembering it had been one hell of a joke. "You have enlisted Mr. Weasley as your cover, is this not true?" he asked, calmly.

Hermione echoed his sigh, finally sitting down. "Yes, that's true. Accidental, but true."

Severus nodded, remembering her first aim was to make him jealous, a typical feminine move. Did she know she hadn't needed to? If she didn't, he did not see fit to tell her. "After your agreement with him, he came to me to offer his services as a go-between. He has much belief in the potion, you see, and obviously cares enough about you that he wishes your happiness even if it means being destined to walk through life with one of his greatest enemies. I accepted his services, as the rest of the world is not quite ready for this," he indicated himself and Hermione with one elegant motion, "to be revealed, and neither are we. The _Adamare Animae _is both scientific fact and well-honored throughout the community, but people still become hung-up on social taboos where the revelations of the potion are considered."

The brunette witch pierced him with a hard gaze. "Elegantly put, sir, but how did you know that cherries are my favorite fruit?" she asked. She held her breath as he looked at her, contemplation on his face. _Correct me, correct me you bastard, _Hermione urged. There had been no cherries on the table that night.

Severus scoffed. "Don't think you can trick me into any sort of admission, Hermione. I…oh, bloody hell," he exclaimed, realizing what she had done. Hermione grinned in triumph. Her deliberately botched attempt at subterfuge had been more than he could resist throwing a comeback at.

"So Ron _is _giving you inside information. And in return, you gave him a shot at Professor McGonagall's apprenticeship! What's next, he gets me in b-bed…with you and you send him on a cruise?" Hermione hated herself for stumbling over the word "bed". The previous night had been the first she had spent in the same room as a romantic interest, let alone the same bed, and even just sleeping beside Severus had been both shaking and thrilling. The thought of…other things…with him was just too…something…to think about.

_Definitely not ready for anything like that. A few kisses in the heat of the moment is something I can deal with…after severe rationalization. Even if he is my 'intended', he's still, right now, my professor. _She could hardly believe that she had been so overcome the night before. Surely, who Severus was in his private quarters was an entirely different person than who Professor Snape was everywhere else. It was as if he put some sort of damper on his passions, his humanity when he left them, and they all came back in some torrential force when he returned. It was both frightening and exciting, but overall highly confusing.

A sigh from Severus brought her back to reality. "Very well, the game is up. Weasley offered his services as an interpreter and middleman in our relationship, as well as being a go-between for the rest of the world to see. Trying to understand the young female mind is like trying to understand why Longbottom's potions explode when even the correct ingredient is added. Your outbursts and accusations at what I think are my own logical actions make it dreadfully hard to develop any kind of communication. I conceded that it would be much easier to allow someone who knows you much better than I to interpret your actions and reactions to me, so I could deal with them in a logical manner." He pursed his lips. "And I offered him ten thousand galleons and a full scholarship to the school of his choice if I can get you into bed."

"_WHAT?" _Hermione screamed, face turning beet red as she leaped to her feet. "You…you despicable…! How could you put a price on…on…"

Her voice tapered off as she saw the shoulders of the dark-robed man shaking, almost imperceptibly. Was he…laughing?

"You're joking," she said, lamely. "You were pulling my leg." Hermione wilted a little, which only caused Severus to burst out in great, ringing laughter, almost uncontrollable. The brunette witch slumped back into her chair, putting a hand over her face. After a moment, the deep embarrassment passed and she started to giggle. "You unholy bastard," she laughed, the air clearing in the shared joke. Severus looked up at her, a crooked smile still on his face, and Hermione drew in a silent breath as a pang struck her through the heart. He was beautiful to her in that instant, his face shining like a carefree young man's.

The sight shook her, but what shook her more was the realization that she was falling for this taciturn man. _When would I have seen it, _she wondered, _if I had never made that blasted potion? What would I have thought? _

She thought it wouldn't have been as frightening.

* * *

As the hour struck midnight, Hermione found herself back in the common room, the spicy smell of the potion she and Severus had worked on lingering about her robes. It stung her eyes, and, as if that was all that was needed to open the floodgates, she sank down into the warm embrace of the couch and began to cry. It was the soft, hiccoughing kind of cry that often bewilders the crier, coming from nowhere with a quiet intensity. Hermione hugged one of the large, fire-warmed pillows to her chest, staring into the flames as if they led to a different world.

"Hermione?" A sleep- muddled Ron appeared at the doorframe. "Are you _crying_?" he asked, instantly awake and at her side. "What did he do to you this time? That blasted bat! I told him he had to be gentler with you, Godric damn him!"

"No!" Hermione said quickly, dashing tears away with the back of her hand. "No, h-he d-didn't do a-a-anything," she hiccoughed, trying to compose herself. "I…oh, Ron, I half didn't b-believe it, b-but…"

Ron's fair experience with crying females cued him in that he needed to sit beside the brunette witch and rub her back as she attempted to tell him what was wrong. This was the easy part; the part where he didn't have to say anything.

"Here I was, kind of playing along. I mean, everyone told me it was tru-ue, but somewhere inside me there w-was this little voice that said, 'that's absurd, Her-er-er-mione, there's no such t-thing as so-oulm-mates. And when h-he said _he _saw it, too, I thought, w-well this is a problem that will have to be sorted out. I was almost r-r-relieved when the aura went away," she admitted.

Ron was starting to see where Hermione's monologue was headed, but didn't say anything, just moving his hand in a circle over her back. "It was a g-game at first, in my head. Try to make him l-like me. Work together. Keep it all a secret. But, oh, _Ron!" _she exclaimed, pitching forward into the redhead's chest, her sobs beginning anew. Ron pulled her into a comforting hug, and waited for her to calm down. The silence in the room was punctuated only by sharp intakes of breaths for a long while. Finally, Hermione regained control and sat back against the couch, eerily calm.

"He laughed today," she told Ron, matter of factly. "_We _laughed. And we smiled at each other for a moment and…" Hermione paused to wipe a tear from her eye and tried to think of exactly how to explain that instant.

"Ron," she started again, heaving a great sigh, "it's real. It's all real. And I'm falling for him. I'm falling for him hard, and I can't stop," she wailed, falling back onto Ron's shoulder. Her faithful friend stroked her hair softly as she cried, making calming shushing noises.

"It'll be alright, Hermione, I swear. You can come to me any time you need to, and I'll help you live happily ever after with the greasy old…I mean, with Snape, if it's the last thing I do, alright? It'll all be okay," Ron assured her, repeating the words in a comforting mantra. After a while, the words lulled Hermione to sleep, leaving Ron staring into the fire, feeling like hexing Lavender and Parvati for ever helping Hermione brew that potion.

* * *

In another room of the castle, Lavender and Parvati sneezed simultaneously, and looked at each other in alarm.


End file.
